Antipathy
by Neurax
Summary: Don't you just hate it when you wake up in an irradiated desert? A Fallout NV Self Insert with a twist: It's (lightly) modded, and the world can't decide if it wants to be real life or a video game. Maybe it's just me. Also, why is my Charisma stat a one?
1. Chapter 1

**Hiya all. I've wanted to do one of these for a long time and I'm doing one now. However, I want this to be unique, to stand out from the rest. How I plan to achieve this? Well I guess you're just going to have to read the story, eh?**

 **Word of warning, features an out of body experience. As in, I get a new body that's way better than my old one. Sure, it's kinda cheap, but this will be balanced out by my atrocious charisma stat and the fact I don't have any convenient pre written dialogue, meaning I'll have to wing it in conversions.**

 **Joy.**

 **Plus I'm not going to be the generic "help everyone in trouble from the goodness of my heart" si guy. This ain't no fix it fic. I'm not looking to make everyone happy, I just want to survive.**

 **And get some sweet epic loot. But mostly survive.**

 **No, I am not the Courier, yes there will be a Courier, and they will likely be female because almost every si makes the token really competent main character avatar person their opposite sex. How unoriginal of me.**

 **Sorry. (I'm not)**

 **Well, I've talked enough, let's get on with it shall we?**

Chapter 1 – Well fuck, this is a real bother

* * *

The first thing that clues me in to not being in my bed is a crackling noise that sounds like… fire?

As I open my eyes I am met with more supporting evidence. Namely, I don't recall my room's roof being made out of metal. Nor do I have a light like that in it either. My mind still clouded with grogginess, I slowly get up and look at my surroundings.

There's the source of that crackling noise. There's a fire in a metal barrel in the corner of the room. How it isn't smoking up the room is beyond me. Assorted junk is everywhere.

This room is uncannily familiar, but it isn't my room. Which leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

I still haven't fully woken up yet, which is probably why I'm not panicking.

My throat is kinda dry. However, I spot a container of water on a bedside table.

Not really thinking, I unscrew the cap and begin drinking it.

Then I spit it out.

Blech. What kind of shit water is this? I hold the bottle up to the lighting.

Oh. That explains it. The water is murky.

I just drank dirty water. Nasty. Disgusted, I toss said water.

It lands somewhere in the room, making a clink as it hit the ground.

Hmm. I get the feeling there's a voice screaming something in the back of my head but it probably isn't important.

Wait a minute.

I recognize this room. It's the abandoned shack near Goodsprings in Fallout New Vegas.

Fallout… New Vegas.

Fallout.

New Vegas.

Slowly, I rise on my shaky legs and walk slowly to the door. I stand there for a minute, contemplating if I really want to open it.

Against my better judgement, I shall. Taking a deep breath, I push the door open. The slightly rusted door creaks, and I am greeted by the outside world.

It's a desert.

A really familiar desert.

Looking to my right I see a rusted water tower off in the distance.

Oh god.

I'm in New Vegas.

Oh god.

I'm in Fallout New Vegas.

Calmly, I shut the door, sit back down on the bed, more of a mattress really, and proceed to flip my shit.

Placing my hands over my head, I begin shaking, repeating, "I'm in New Vegas, I'm in New Vegas", like a broken record.

As you can see, I'm not taking this very well. Understandable, given I've just been dumped in an irradiated desert full of things that want to kill me probably by some asshole R.O.B.

I sit there for a few minutes, hoping this is all a dream.

Don't get me wrong, I love Fallout New Vegas, I have over a thousand hours on it, but it's still a fallout game. And I'm betting I will feel pain unlike the game avatar, who the player only sees get hurt but the person controlling the avatar doesn't feel it.

Whelp, time for a world of pain. Coming soon to yours truly.

Alright, to keep my sanity grounded, I'm going to need a list of priorities.

Priority one. Don't die. This one's kind of obvious, but I've just been dropped in a murder desert, so I don't care how cliché that line was.

Oh! Do I have a pip boy? Looking at both my wrists reveals that sad revelation that I in fact do not have a glorious technological bag of holding.

Fuck.

Priority two. Get a pip boy ASAP.

Right off the top of my head I'm thinking of the one Doc Mitchell has, but for all I know the Courier's already here and made off with it. The good old doc wouldn't give it to a random stranger anyway.

Which leaves two other options. I could find a vault resident and murder them for their pip boy.

It's for a good cause I swear. Ricky from Honest Hearts would be a good choice. Prick.

Or, the other more humane option is that I hook up with Mick and Ralph and foil Gomorrah's conspiracy plot to turn Vegas into a war zone, receiving the incredibly gaudy **Pimp Boy 3 Billion**.

I say gaudy because a golden colored pip boy does not match well with most of the armors of this game. It would also stick out like a sore thumb. Probably blind myself whenever I look at it when the sun's overhead. Until then, I'm just going to have to find a backpack or something.

Now that that's sorted, priority three.

Find the Courier. Well, assuming they haven't done the Battle of Hoover Dam yet. If that's happened, I'll just piss off into the wasteland looking to make a life of my own, because I won't be delusional, there's probably no way back to my Earth. If they had trans-dimensional travel, people would have a grand exodus to get off this planet. I'll get sad about the fact I won't see my friends and family ever again later. Right now there's more important stuff to do, like finding out what I have to work with.

Don't worry, this is just a coping mechanism. I promise. Right well, now that I'm not ought right panicking, I see there is some armor on the bed.

Some lightweight metal armor.

Goody. Walking around encased in a metal coffin in a desert. Totally not going to give me a stroke or anything.

Well, beggars can't be choosers. Putting the armor on is like slipping into a suit of medieval armor. It kinda feels like chain mail. And yes, I've worn chain mail. Heavy. Good thing this is less bulky than the other metal armors. Actually, it doesn't really hinder me that much. Strange, I mean, I wasn't a wimp in the strength department or anything, but I doubt I could have worn something like this on with such ease like I am now.

In fact…

I just noticed I have muscles now. Like bodybuilder muscles.

Uh…

Almost instantly I put my hands on my face. Before I was dumped here I was unfortunate enough for my genes to decide, "Hey this guy needs a neckbeard." And thus I had a neckbeard.

Not anymore. Instead of my scruffy neckbeard mutton chop mustache thing my face likes to grow, it is instead a rough kinda-beard.

Admittedly, this is much better but it raises the question is this my body?

Play some twilight zone music people, because I think we have ourselves a new body snatcher. Namely, moi.

I don't hear a voice in the back of my head cursing my existence, so I guess this is my body now. Hopefully this body just popped into existence because whoever's soul that might have been in here was probably kicked out by my entrance.

Am I the Courier? Because on one hand, I wanna be the Courier. On the other hand, said hand is giving that thought the middle finger yelling, "Fuck that."

I don't want to be hounded by all the major Mohave factions. At the same time I feel the need to be a special snowflake.

Well, do I have a bullet scar on my forehead? I don't. Probably not the Courier then. Good. Bad. Whatever.

Body snatching aside, what else is there besides armor?

Well, there's a broad machete. It kinda looks like a kukri, now that I think about it. Picking it up, I give it a few swings. Instead of being clumsy like I expected, there's a certain efficient grace with each swing. Guess I'm a melee weapons build.

In a world filled with guns, lasers, and explosives. Ranged crap.

Something tells me that being sneaky is going to be an important factor to my survival.

Well on the positive side, I'm going to become an absolute tank assuming I make it to level thirty-fiftyish. If levels and perks even exist in the conventional sense here.

Right. What else is there?

Oh look, a grenade launcher. Well it's actually a grenade rifle, but seeing as they both shoot things that go boom they might as well be the same thing. There's even some… grenade shells? I'm not sure if that's the proper term for that, so I'm going to call it that until I have evidence on the contrary.

There's also some doctor bags, stimpacks, and assorted fallout drugs. I find a pouch for the stimpacks on my armor. The drugs and doctor bags are just going to have to sit there until I find something to carry them in. Same with all the other crap lying around in this shack.

Alright, I've dilly dallied enough, time to go outside for reals. Putting the grenade rifle on my back in imitation of the Courier avatar, which the weapon weirdly sticks for some reason, (I think the back of my armor is magnetized or something) the shells in another pouch I found on my armor, I pick up my machete and step out into the Mohave Wasteland.

 _And thus, the story of the legendary raider killer known throughout the Mohave by the alias of Ricksaw began, from humble beginnings._

* * *

 **This is just a sneak peak, a prologue if you will. Expect more to come soon. I'm aiming for most chapters to break 2000+ word count.**

 **Stats, perks, and more informative nonsense will come next chapter. Hold your horses.**

 **Now how this is going to work is that I've started a new game in fallout nv and stuff I do in the game will be written down and converted to fanfiction.**

 **Since I'm not the Courier expect differences from "canon". Expect this story to be filled with swearing, violence, and lots of time spent monologue-ing, because "I clubbed this guy in the face." isn't very exciting to read and we need glorious context.**

 **Edited 2/5/2019.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I bet some of you thought I wasn't going to post another chapter.**

 **You're wrong~**

 **I'm serious about this.**

 **This was meant to be released yesterday, but I had to do something incredibly taxing that day and as a result slept for the rest of the day.**

 **Sorry. Here you go, enjoy.**

 **I promised more than 2000 words, so here's 6000+ words for you to feast your eyes on.**

 **Not sure if this will be the norm yet, so don't get your hopes up. Will probably do time skips or short summaries of events in the future. It will erode my sanity if I have to write down EVERYTHING I do.**

Chapter 2 – It's modded

* * *

As I departed from what I guess is now my hobo hut, I walked up to the Yatze- er, the Yaguhatze- no that's not right. Fuck it, the giant white prewar cross thing that sits near Goodsprings. I'm just going to call it the Yang memorial.

There's no radscorpions here, so that's good. Be kinda pathetic if I got poisoned minutes after stepping outside. Luckily all the radscorpions hang out near the far left of the water tower.

The air itself is humid, dry, and kind at suffocating at first. I've always been an indoors person so I'm likely going to have a hard time getting used to this. And there's sand flying everywhere. I need goggles.

Now if I remember correctly there's a hollowed out rock nearby…

Here it is. The white hippie peace sign marks the spot.

How do I open it? Maybe there's a loose stone. Nah wouldn't be that simple- oh never mind, there was a loose stone.

Sticking my hand inside I grasped for anything that might have value. I found a fork.

Pfft.

Maybe I'll be useful if I stab someone in the eye with it. Tossed.

That said I look at the white stone of the quarry, wondering if I'll live long enough and grow tough enough to kill a deathclaw. Seems like a pipe dream, but as Mr. New Vegas says- "Hey, you never know."

Would have to be wearing power armor and take a fuck ton of drugs if I want to fight it with a melee weapon. Or I invest in explosives and get myself a missile launcher. That sounds safer actually.

Ah, the two graves are here too. I don't have a shovel nor am I willing to sink to the level of being a grave robber.

Not yet, anyway. Depends on how desperate I get.

Continuing onward, I head towards Devil's Gullet, where I come across a coyote. It looks similar as it did in the game. Grey coat, a half-starved appearance. It's eyes are bugged out, it might have rabies.

I could take it.

If I want to level up I'm going to need experience points.

Sorry buddy, it's for the greater good. As in my greater good.

The coyote growls at me as I move closer. Now comparing my size to the coyote, I can see I'm a lot taller that it.

It's crouched slightly now, looks ready to lunge. Better be ready.

Oh, hello there Adrenalin, I was wondering when you would show up.

Readying my machete I look for an opening and- oh god it lunged and I swung my machete really fast- and now…

That's a dead coyote. How do I know, you ask?

My machete's become best friends with its forehead.

Visceral matter looks really nasty.

I'd go into detail, but I'm going to spare myself and anybody who might be watching their breakfast, lunch, and dinner by saying that Fallout New Vegas censored gory deaths more than you know. I think I'll skip Bloody Mess. I don't think my stomach could handle enemies exploding into bits when I kill them. It'd be bad for my sanity too.

This is really graphic. And disgusting. I'd puke, but whoever had this body before I stole their body didn't eat anything today, so I'm left gacking instead.

I resist the urge to get on my hands and knees in the sand and politely ask the coyote if I can have my machete back.

Oh black comedy how I love you. Man, it hasn't even been thirty minutes in fallout land yet and my sanity is already questionable.

We're off to a great start. It's probably just a coping mechanism.

I get the feeling that's going to eventually be my excuse for all the weird shit I do during my time here.

It's probably just a coping mechanism.

Getting a head start I see. Hats off to you, myself.

Enough being weird, I need my machete back.

Hesitantly I reach for my machete, grabbing the handle. It won't come out.

Damn, looks like I'll need to…ugh…

I look around. Doesn't look like PETA is watching, because what I'm going to do next would piss them off. Taking my metal boot I reluctantly place it on the dead coyote's neck and get a firm grip on the handle.

Then I pull.

Slowly, the machete is pulled out of the coyote's mangled head. It makes a cringe worthy squelching noise as it comes out. Where the weapon used to be is now a crack exposing what is probably brain matter and with nothing blocking the wound anymore, a lot, lot, of blood comes pouring out.

I don't look at it any more than I have to.

I better have gotten experience from that, because if I commit genocide on the Goodsprings coyotes for nothing, it'll have been a big fat waste of my time.

Also, they would have died for nothing. Poor coyotes. Wiping the blood and god knows what that's on my machete on the dead coyote's fur, I continue onwards to Devil's mouth. Or was it gullet? I think it was gullet actually. Devil's gullet.

On the way there I kill two more coyotes. They go down easily, with two head blows or rather, slashes for each one. Thankfully my machete didn't get stuck this time.

It seems that this body is used to combat at least, which kinda makes me feel guilty.

I feel like I'm cheating.

No really, wasn't I supposed to freeze up during my first fight? Instead I easily killed that thing, with only mild panic. Wasn't it supposed to knock me on the ground, resulting in me fighting for my life desperately?

That's usually how the first fight in any SI fanfic usually goes. Hooray for me breaking the standard.

Yaaaaayyy…

Enough monologuing , I've arrived at Devil's Gullet. I carefully slide down the metal makeshift bridge. Don't have a backpack, but I want to grab the Hydra that I remember spawns down here. It should be in a bathtub, which I see.

That's new. There's what looks like a cave entrance in the wall over there. That wasn't in the vanilla version of Fallout New Vegas, which can only mean one thing…

A World of Pain is apparently canon here, which only makes my earlier comment about being in for a world of pain ironic.

For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, let me elaborate. A World of Pain is a Nexus mod for Fallout New Vegas. The short and simplified version is that it adds a whole lot of new locations and makes the game harder.

Great. Loot destruction was the bane of my existence in that mod. Stupid collars lagged my game due to the smoke effect when they activated.

I don't feel like getting gang banged by Golden Geckos so I'm just going to climb back up the hot metal pile of crap right there and make myself scarce.

Until I get stronger. Then I'll come back and that'll probably be my dinner that night.

Oh, and I also did find the Hydra. I'll just carry it with me for now in my unoccupied hand. I go over the hill, making my way to Goodsprings Cave. I arrive at the drop-off and get on my hands and lay down on the ground. The ground is of course sand and probably I am going to regret doing this later but who cares?

You certainly don't, you just want to see me kill things. I peer over the edge and spy with my little eye two adult coyotes and one little runt.

Now, time to kill these ones too. So, leaving the hydra close by, I make my way down and do just that.

Coyotes are pretty pathetic actually. No wonder they barely give you any xp in the game. Me in my old body, given I was wearing this armor, could probably kill them with relative ease too.

The little coyote pup is ferociously biting my foot. Too bad for it my foot is currently protected by a layer of metal, though that sure isn't stopping it from trying. I'm shaking in my boots. Bending over, I pick the little ball of fur by the scruff of its neck and hold the I-can't-believe-it's-not-a-puppy away from my face.

It's squirming, actually more of a panicked thrashing really. Now am I gonna be that one asshole guy and kill what is essentially a baby desert doggo?

Nope.

Here you go little one, go mourn your parents and become a coyote version of batman or something.

The not-puppy lets out a little growl, which might have been intimidating if it weren't for the fact that it's really small.

Ignoring it, I go into the cave.

It's actually somewhat cool in here. And dark, though the light from the outside makes me able to see what I'm doing. Now, if only it weren't inhabited by coyotes and full of corpses. There's another coyote by the pillar, which receives a quick death. If there was a damage bonus perk against coyotes, I would have it by now.

I'm sneaking now. My legs aren't fond of it. Too bad legs, you'll have to get used to it.

There's the little opening where a group of coyotes hang out. I'm not going to be stupid and take them on with my machete, it's time for the grenade rifle to shine.

Now time to do something that's really stupid if I didn't have an aoe weapon. Cupping my hands around my mouth I holler "Hey!"

Holly sheet my voice is deep. And raspy. No time to ponder my new voice because here they come.

About three adult wolves- I mean coyotes come out from around the corner. Raising the grenade rifle, I pull the trigger. And fall over backwards from the resulting explosion.

I probably fired it a little too close to me. D'oh.

Luckily I didn't explode myself or my limbs.

My ears are ringing. At least when the smoke clears, the coyotes are dead. Really dead, as there's bits of them strewn everywhere.

Gross.

Walking around the corner I see a dead guy.

Actually it's a dead ghoul.

They don't look very pretty, but my stomach isn't threatening to revolt at the sight of them so I guess Raul and I can become friends after all.

Snarky bastard. My second favorite character in New Vegas, right after Doctor Mobius.

Doctor Mobius was a really hilarious character. Especially all the announcements he would make as you wandered Big Mountain.

Though I'll sadly probably want to stay away from Big Mountain this time, since I don't have a convenient bullet wound in my brain and will just be lobotomized instead. Pity. Well I could shoot myself in the head just before I touch the satellite, but that's a really bad idea.

Alright, there's two other corpses. Human corpses this time. They've been a bit chewed on by the coyotes. Pointedly not looking too closely, I remove a backpack from one of the corpses, a man. This will be useful. Raiding their caravan sack I find ammo, medical tools, useless crap like a clipboard, and ammo casings.

There's also a 9mm pistol. What's my skill with a gun like?

Spotting a baby coyote growling at me in the corner, I take aim with both my hands holding the gun. I fire, and miss by a mile. The shot goes into the cave wall, missing the baby desert dog by like five feet. Guess guns are not for me. I almost toss the 9mm, but I remember I can sell it for caps.

Taking my newly acquired backpack, I grab the ammo and medical tools (I can make a doctors bag if I get enough). Ammo casings aren't worth anything, and I'm not going to be using guns apparently.

I also liberate a baseball bat from the woman and swap it out for my machete, putting my previous weapon in the backpack. Better range.

I am now The Batter. Time to purify the wastes of raiders, mutants, and commie ghosts.

Off reference. You casuals wouldn't get it. I never did get around to posting the next chapter of that fanfic I wrote…

The chapter was half finished, delayed by real life problems and school. Guess I'll never finish it now. Damn. I had a really intricate plot line planned out and everything…

I'd say oh well, but I'm actually really bummed out by this. Wonder if fanfiction exists here?

Also pillaged a laser pistol from the dead guy and a plasma pistol from the Bright follower. Energy cells look cool. Too bad I won't be using them either. Explosives shall remain my only other attacking method besides hitting people and mutated horrors with a big wooden stick.

Not really wanting to, I take two dirty waters I found in the caravan sack. In this place, dehydration is a very real threat, and since I'm tromping around in something that conducts heat really well, any water will be useful.

All my glorious loot secured in the backpack, I leave the cave, waving a farewell to the three coyote puppies I just orphaned. Sorry, I guess.

They'll get over it.

With that, I trek back to the spot I left the Hydra, nabbing it. And then back to my shack, where I take everything of value that isn't nailed down and stuff it into my backpack.

I also black out for a second and repair my machete with another machete. I say black out, because for one moment I was holding two machetes, the next part's a blur, and now there's one really shiny broad machete.

Look, I can see my face.

It's not my face.

The brown hair looks a bit like my old hair (shaggy suave) but the facial hair is all different (rough beard). The rest of my new face is nothing special, I don't look hideously ugly, just plain. Fine by me. My eyes are still blue though.

Neat.

Guess it's time to go to Goodsprings. At this thought a feeling of… distaste? Is felt. By me.

What? Why?

Does whoever this body belongs to have a bad reputation with Goodsprings? I hope not. I don't want to get shot at by angry settlers.

Looks like we will just have to find out. As I'm walking towards Goodsprings, I'm finally starting to feel the heat which is pretty annoying actually. Must have high Endurance if it took this long for me to notice it wearing metal armor. I think that's how it works, right?

I see Goodsprings off in the distance. Cautiously, I approach, trying to look casual but secretly I'm tense and ready to make a run for it if the need arises.

With the sense of distaste that isn't mine growing stronger, I notice there's a lot more residents than there was in the original game. Either this is real life making itself known, or their all A World of Pain characters.

Either way, it's really setting me on edge for some inexplicable reason.

I walk to the saloon. Haven't been shot at yet or given unfriendly looks by the inhabitants, just curious looks. Guess I'm just not a people person. There's the door. Easy Pete's giving me a look and for some reason I want to flip him off, which I thankfully don't.

Inside the saloon it's cooler than the outside, though not as cool as that cave. Some settlers are playing a game of pool, which actually looks neat. Wish they implemented that in the actual game.

But I'm not here to be sociable, I'm here for answers. That mind in thought, I walk to the bar section. Trudy, who looks exactly like she does in the game, is dutifully cleaning a shot glass with a moderately dirty looking rag. Her radio works too, which could mean Benny and his group of thugs haven't been here yet, or the Courier's fixed her radio.

"Like the one they call… Johnny Guitar…"

Hopefully real life Fallout New Vegas has more songs than the game did. Seriously, only twelve songs in the original game, not counting the one from Big Mountain?

I hate the song the radio is playing too. That is without a doubt, the worst song ever in a Fallout game period.

Stuck up prewar bitch needs to get over Johnny Guitar.

Trudy looks up from cleaning the shot glass.

"Howdy."

I respond in the most eloquent manner possible, a gruff "Hey."

Sitting down at a stool I decide a whisky, as Trudy will be more likely to share rumors with me if I buy something.

"One whisky."

Trudy smiles. That strange feeling of hostility is back. "Sure thing. Do you prefer it in a glass, or do you want the bottle?"

"Bottle." Comes my unfriendly response. Seriously, why am I being so unfriendly? It's like what I'm thinking in my mind can't convert to what I show on the outside. I'm not trying to be an asshole, but my demeanor's having none of that.

Trudy hands me the bottle. Giving her the caps, which I had on me in a pocket, I uncork the top and take a swig.

Here's a life lesson kids. Alcohol tastes like shit. There's a reason people only drink it for the buzz, and not the taste.

My mouth is full of bitter, smoky fire. I swallow. Ugh. This tastes terrible. I don't see the appeal.

While I've been drinking, Trudy's been pretending to go back to cleaning the glass, but she's actually scrutinizing my face.

Perception is actually being useful for once. As I put the bottle of eye catching orange down, Trudy asks me a question.

"You that hermit that lives near the Yangtze Memorial?"

Ah, god dammit. I really did steal a person's body.

Sorry hermit guy. Blame the R.O.B.

"I guess so." Which is not an answer, and it seems that Trudy isn't satisfied.

"Why come here? From what I remember the few times you've been in town, it's always to buy supplies. You're not exactly a friendly sort."

Is she insulting me?

"Got bored. Tired of sitting in my shack all day." It's not exactly a lie, but it isn't the truth either.

"Huh." Trudy does not look convinced, but she can't prove shit. "So, mysterious hermit, what's your name?"

I open my mouth to tell her my actual name, but what comes out instead is-

"Rick."

That's not my name. Though it's probably the guy who originally owned this body.

Did I and "Rick" merge minds or something? Probably some crazy shit like that, given I'm acting out of character here. I wasn't a social butterfly back on my Earth, but surely I was better than this.

Trudy makes a noise of acknowledgment. Taking another swig of whisky, more for show really, as I prepare to try and make my next question as subtle as possible.

"Any courier's come through lately? Got a package I want to deliver. Don't trust the mailbox." This comes out as a growl filled with spite, loathing, and implies that conversing is the last thing I want to be doing. My raspy voice doesn't help either.

Damn, the hell is my Charisma stat?

Trudy's smile falters a little, but to her credit, she recovers fairly gracefully.

"Sorry. No couriers lately. Though if you don't trust the mailbox, Primm isn't far from here. You could give your package to Jonathan Nash. Decent fellow."

I've got a head start on the Courier. This excites and terrifies me.

"Any news on Hoover Dam?" At this, Trudy grows more solemn.

"Nothing's changed. The NCR and Caesar's Legion are still in a deadlock, though I've heard rumors that the Legion's mobilizing on the other side of the river."

I've got what I came for. Putting my hands on the counter, I rise. Trudy quirks an eyebrow.

"Leaving so soon?"

"I've got errands to run." And with that, I leave the saloon before Trudy can get another word in.

Next I go to Chet's. He's a little surprised at first, but doesn't ask many questions. I sell him assorted junk like ammo and guns and then leave as soon as I came.

Now, I need a legitimate reason to go see Doc Mitchell. I can't just walk up there without a good reason.

So while I'm thinking of a good reason, I'm going to relieve the town's mailboxes of their magazines. And "borrow" that sneak skill book in Trudy's house.

It goes off without a hitch, and I've got myself a Chinese Army: Special Ops Training Manual.

She wasn't using it anyway.

Then I make my way to the schoolhouse, and kill a lot of overgrown mantises. Or is it manti?

I accidentally poke an ootheca, and regret my entire existence. So. Many. Baby. Mantises. The bottom of my boot is now stained green with mantis innards.

Now that that horrifying event is over, let's see if I can pillage the safe. I have a bobby pin, but no screwdriver.

I always wondered where the Courier got a screwdriver. Does it just materialize in their han-

A screwdriver materialized in my hand.

Oh.

Okay.

I'm going to say this once, just need to get this out of my system.

I take a deep breath.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

I feel a bit better now. Also, I sound intimidating when I yell.

Alright, so apparently Fallout New Vegas didn't get the memo that a self-insert needed to be real life.

I can work with this. Magical wasteland magician, no worries.

I'm going to pointedly ignore the fact that a magical screwdriver from nowhere came into the existence into the palm of my hand.

Surprisingly, I can pick the lock. Bunch of caps, chems, and even a stealth boy as a reward, but that's not what got my interest.

A certain book labeled Cybernetic Surgery: Standard Edition does. Project Nevada is here as well. Of course it is.

At least I have a valid reason for going to Doc Mitchell now. But first…

A lot of wandering around the outskirts of Goodsprings later and I find myself being bugged by one persistent Barton Thorn.

"Please man, you gotta save my girl."

"Piss off. Do it yourself."

I'd save my self the trouble and run him off, or at least knock him out, but a Goodsprings resident has decided this is the perfect time to get some water, and I can't just attack the guy without being provoked.

I agree to "save his girl" if only so I can deal with him with no witnesses. So making my way up the hill, I came across my first mutant gecko.

It's a baby. And like that coyote earlier, it's attempting to bite my foot off. Unfortunately, it isn't having much luck. Metal is surprisingly effective at keeping it off my tasty foot. I shake it off my leg and teach it the meaning of blunt force trauma with my bat.

Splat.

Sorry, you're not cute enough to be spared. I kill three more geckos, the first one being an adult.

I sorta just hit it until it dies. The other two are younger and smaller, so I amusingly punt one off a ridge and kill the other by hitting it really hard. Downside of the bat. It doesn't have a graceful style. You just hit things until they stop moving.

Works for me.

There's a cluster of geckos near the destination of Baron's "girl" but a well-placed frag grenade I bought from Franks (A World of Pain merchant. He's essentially a budget Gun Runners.) takes care of them.

I also bought a Medicine skill book from him, which has joined the Sneak book.

Ah, here comes Baron Thorn's backstabbing ass now.

"Sorry I tricked you, but thanks for clearing out the Geckos. Now I can get to that stash up there… after I deal with you."

That's what you think buddy. While Mutfucker Mcgee is flapping his lips over there, I'm already walking towards him, intending on beating the crap out of him.

This plan goes slightly awry as he pulls out a single shotgun and proceeds to shoot me.

I'm not going to write anything in caps, but I've just been shot.

It really hurts. My armor didn't do shit to stop the twelve gauge. I am also rather pissed. Like really pissed. I can't think about anything else than smashing his face in.

So with a battle cry, I shoulder check the fuck, knocking him to the ground. He tries to shoot me again, but I knock the shotgun out of the way, causing it to go off harmlessly. Pinning him down, I begin smashing his face in with my bat.

Again.

And again.

And again.

I don't know how long I do this for, only that I feel nothing as Thorn's face starts resembling a mushy tomato. It's mechanical almost. Routine.

Finally I stop, and look at my handiwork.

Baron's face can't really be called a face anymore.

I don't feel any guilt. I just killed a human being and I don't really feel anything.

Maybe I'm still treating this like a video game, and it just hasn't set in fully for me yet.

Or Rick might have been a sociopath as well as a misanthrope and I inherited it somehow on the way of transitioning into his body.

Well, this guy did just try to kill me. It's not like he didn't deserve it. I get up from his corpse and give it a good kick.

Then, the level up sound plays, and the world freezes.

Damn, isn't this convenient.

…

The fuck is this shit.

Really fallout world, you're going to pull shit like this?

I thought this was going to be the most realistic fallout experience I ever got.

Not going to complain much however. This is extremely convenient for me.

And I'm still mildly disturbed I killed a guy in cold blood, granted he deserved it, but still.

But while time has frozen, my bullet wound has stopped hurting. A screen pops up in front of me. Look, it's my skills.

This surreal situation has gotten even more surreal. At this point I'm just going to roll with it.

My stats are pretty low. Though that's to be expected as the screen tells me I am now level 2.

Tagged stats are Melee weapons, Repair, and Lockpicking. Can tell because they're higher than everything else.

Hmm… I'll focus on leveling my tags to good levels.

Put a couple of points in melee weapons, some in repair, and lastly in lockpicking. I have one point left over, so I'll put it in speech.

Going to need speech for the Gomorrah quest after all.

Now, time to pick my perk.

Usually I pick Confirmed Bachelor for strategic reasons as most of the enemies in this game are male and you get a ten percent damage bonus, but since this is kinda real life now I don't want to set off every homosexual man's gaydar.

There's nothing wrong with being gay of course, no matter what religion tells you. It's just that I prefer women. Sorry Arcade, you'll have to look elsewhere, unless the Courier is male and he happens to be gay. If so, know I'll be rooting for you two. You go gir- er, guys.

Lady Killers a no-no. I have better things to pick, and it doesn't fit my own personality either.

Swift Learners a waste of a perk and I'm not interested in Retention.

I guess its Intensive Training then. I would have picked Endurance as a stat to raise, but it's just been revealed to me as an eight.

Wow.

If I live to level thirty I am so getting implant GRX.

Non addictive Turbo for the win. Fast times indeed.

Right, what else is there?

Strength's an eight, Perception's a six, Charisma's…

Oh dear. My Charisma's a one. I guess it was a good thing I didn't pick Lady Killer.

Well, Trudy did imply Rick (Which is now me) was/is a hermit. More accurately, he was probably a misanthrope. As in, he hated people. Especially the action of speaking to people. Guess that explains why I got so uncharacteristically pissed at everyone. My throat was scratchy from disuse.

Before I contemplate the advantages of raising my Charisma, let's look at the other options first.

Intelligence's a seven, which is pretty good, and Agility and Luck are both five.

Let's see… I think I know what I want to do.

For now, I'll raise my Perception to a seven, because why not and then work on my Intelligence. If I get the Finesse perk, I won't need to raise Luck and maybe I'll raise Agility a little.

Then Charisma. Being able to properly gossip with people isn't very high on my list of priorities.

Perception is now seven and a notification has popped in my face.

 **Intensive Training (PER +1) – somehow, through the touch of a totally not magical holographic panel floating in midair, your Perception has improved by 1**

What.

Dear god, did the perk description system just get sarcastic?

And why did I read it in the narrator's voice from the Persona 4 hiimdaisy comic?

Whatever mod this is, I kinda like it.

Then it disappeared. And time started moving again. Baron's face has started "leaking". It doesn't disturb me as much as it should.

Carefully, I prod the place where he shot me and hiss as the wound throbs in response. I think the bullet went through. Unclasping the back panel of my armor I gently touch my lower back and yup there's a hole there and the wound is bleeding. A lot actually.

How am I not curled up in a ball right now screaming in pain? I just got **shot**.

Guess high Endurance also makes you one tough cookie. Wonder if I could do a Joshua Gram with this Endurance.

You know, be covered in pitch, set on fire, and get kicked off a cliff into the Grand Canyon.

Oh shit, I'm still bleeding while my mind is internally monologuing. I grab an article of the guys clothing or whatever and hack a sleeve to ribbons with my machete which I take and put on my back applying pressure. This isn't a fix, but I'm not planning to bandage myself.

Now I get to stab myself with a fancy syringe containing miracle fluid.

Where should I stab myself? My stomach probably. Right in the wound.

And thus, I did. Spoiler alert. It hurt. A lot. I admit to letting out a pained noise. Pride is likely to be a hindrance here anyway.

But it's ok, I thought as I was putting my armor back on, I'm no longer bleeding everywhere.

His face has started "leaking" more.

Damn, who knew that neck wounds were so bloody? Seriously I've stood here for a minute and there's still blood coming out. Probably because I cut, well hacked, an artery.

And now I've just realized I've been staring intently at a dead guy for a minute. Without feeling anything.

I'm likely some kind of sociopath now. I say "kind of" because I understand emotions.

I'm just not feeling the ones I should when I look at this guy I killed.

…

Got something new for my bucket list.

Priority four: Go to the New Vegas Medical Clinic to make sure I'm mentally sound and safe to be around humans. If not, find someone with morals, maybe pull a Paarthurnax and meditate on top of a mountain or something.

That bullet wound still really fucking hurts. Didn't help that I shoved a needle in my stomach to fix it. Thankfully, the bullet went through, so I don't have to hire the good doc to dig it out of my rib cage, but still, fuck.

I put a hand on the spot where Baron shot me. Its weird feeling skin and flesh knitting itself back up.

Tingly.

Sighing, I walk up the cliff to a little outlook where some crazy bastard decided it was a good idea to put a fridge up there. Taking that asshole Barton's single shotgun I set off the bear traps, though I nearly stepped in the first one.

Dead guy, probably killed by the geckos, laying on the ground near the chair.

I think I see maggots wriggling in the guy's face.

Fuck that shit. Using my newly acquired shotgun, I push the decaying body off the ridge, causing it to tumble ungracefully down the mini cliff, ending with a muffled crunch on top of the Sunnytime Cigar factory roof.

There's a chair here. I think I'll have a seat. Taking my backpack off, I set it next to the chair and sit down. I let out a breath of relief. Sure it's hot, I'm wearing crap metal armor in a desert (This is gonna bite me in the ass sometime I swear) and I've been dimensionally displaced and body snatched a body (sorry Rick), but at least I'm not standing anymore. I adopt a thinker pose, you know, the one of that naked statue guy.

I'm going to have to kill a bunch of mutants if I want to do the Paarthurnax thing though. Black Mountain would also need to be unTabithaed. Or is it Unutobiphaed? Dunno. Fixing Rhonda should be easy because from what I remember, I think it's essentially flipping the on switch.

Why am I actually seriously thinking about this?

Because you have no idea how much it's disturbing me at not being disturbed for killing a guy.

Disturbception.

That's not a word, but it is now.

Well if I do turn out to have become a sociopath, I'll just have to be a high functioning sociopath. Should be pretty easy, as I wasn't a sociopath before I was dropped in Rick's body.

And I've got the Intelligence~

A decent amount actually. I don't feel smart, but maybe it'll reveal itself later.

Hey, I wonder if there's anything in that fridge.

Getting up I walk to said fridge, dropping the single shotgun. Guns are useless for me anyway, I have a grenade rifle.

Also, Rick (And by that extension, now me) couldn't/can't shoot a gun for shit.

Thankfully with explosives you don't have to be pinpoint accurate.

It would be nice if I had VATS though.

At this point I've opened the fridge revealing… drumroll please… a gecko steak!

Oh boy. I've always wanted to know what overgrown mutant gecko tastes like.

Please note my sarcasm, you might miss it if you blink.

Hmm. There doesn't seem to be anything growing on it, thought I as I turned it over under my watchful appraising eye. Poetic. Maybe.

Is this safe to eat? I mean I don't see anything nasty on it so maybe…

Yes me, you should totally eat a dodgy steak you found in an unpowered refrigerator in the middle of the desert.

Well if I do get food poisoning there's a doctor only a couple hundred feet away. It's not like I've eaten anything since I woke up, and I want to save that maize I found in my hobo shack for a situation where I'm about to starve to death.

Here goes.

 _Crunch Crunch_

Huh.

Tastes like chicken.

* * *

 **Profile:**

 **Name: "Rick"**

 **Level: 2**

 **Title: Renegade**

 **Karma: Neutral**

 **Perks:**

 **Built to Destroy**

 **Hot Blooded**

 **Intensive Training (Rank 1)**

 **S.P.E.C.I.A.L.**

 **Strength – 8**

 **Perception – 7**

 **Endurance – 8**

 **Charisma – 1**

 **Intelligence – 7**

 **Agility – 5**

 **Luck – 5**

 **Skills**

 **Barter - 7**

 **Energy Weapons - 19**

 **Guns - 15**

 **Explosives - 15**

 **Lockpick - 35**

 **Medicine - 19**

 **Melee Weapons - 40**

 **Repair - 35**

 **Science - 19**

 **Sneak - 15**

 **Speech - 8**

 **Survival - 21**

 **Unarmed - 21**

 **Mods Loaded (2/5/2019: at the original release of this chapter these were the only mods featured, but I've added a couple others which will be explained in a future chapter, probably chapter 11)**

 **Project Nevada**

 **A World of Pain**

 **P.S. If anyone from Purifying Brockton Bay is reading this, I haven't abandoned that story. It's just being put on the back burner for now. I do intend on writing more of it.**

 **Edited 2/5/2019.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I've been on and off writing this one for several days now. You'd think these would be written fairly quickly, but no, it actually takes quite a while to produce one of these. I thought I'd never finish this. The reason this one took so long is that I misjudged the amount of time I spent playing the game and played a bit too much. There won't be a profile at the end of this chapter because I don't have the approximate skill values anymore and it wouldn't be accurate.**

 **I didn't want to delay this chapter for another two days, so here it is now.**

 **The plus side is that now, because I cut a portion out that wasn't finished and put it in the next word document, I already have part of the next chapter written.**

 **This one's 7000+ words. I'm spoiling you all.**

 **Guest: As I said before, I'm only keeping it to two mods. Don't want to confuse the vanilla players too much. Along with all the DLC, those are the only mods I have installed on my game.**

Chapter 3 – Geckos, Factions, and 4D Storage Oh My!

* * *

After I decided to stop lazing in the chair, which doesn't take long because it's hot out and I don't want this armor to burn me, I made my way over to an xander root I saw earlier. I pull it up by the very conveniently shaped green thing at the top.

It looks like a turnip from hell. Fuck it, put it in the backpack anyway.

Along the way down I pick some broc flowers as well. I'll figure out how to make healing powder later, maybe it'll come naturally to me. One lengthy walk later, I'm standing in front of the Sunnytime Cigar factory. It's actually HQ instead of factory, well excuse me.

This is one of the many new locations added by the A World of Pain mod. From what I remember, it has a minor problem of being absolutely infested by "normal" geckos. Time to kill a bunch I guess.

So I enter the factory, which the first minute inside is relatively boring, until I find an adult gecko and kill it.

And then another one comes. I kill that one too but…

There's another.

And another.

Is that? Oh wait. It's another fucking gecko.

There's a rather large number of them, and at this point the geckos are having a great time chasing me upstairs.

Then I jump on a sketchy bridge that's in the central room and golf swing the first unfortunate gecko that decided to follow me by jumping.

While it's in midair.

Suddenly opposed by an opposite force, the gecko stops moving forward in midair and unfortunately for it, gravity decides to make it its bitch. Judging from that crunching noise and the way it landed, it looks and sounds like it just broke its spine.

Good. I'll kill it later.

The next one, a gecko that looks like it's in the middle of the transitioning phase from baby to adult, gets a downward swing of the bat to the forehead, which gives it a concussion. I give it a good kick and it falls off the junk bridge, the shoddy railing not really saving it from rolling down the mountain of junk holding this bridge up.

The rest, which are babies, I kill relatively easily.

What's next? I hold my bat in readiness.

Nothing else shows its ugly mug, so for the moment I guess I'm safe.

Right, time to pillage some stuff. I could list everything I found, but that would take forever, so I'll just summarize.

A bunch of caps, bullets plus energy cells, some water, oh I also killed that gecko from earlier, pre-war money (it looks a bit like our money, but the faces are different), components for a weapon repair kit, killed the other gecko, and look a dead guy.

Not in that order, I picked two locks with my magical screwdriver, though all I found was prewar money, caps, and some 5.56 ammo. Just thought I'd let you know.

I found a note on him. Basically reads that the guy thought he could get laid if he killed a few geckos and brought proof.

Sorry dude, but no. If you want to get laid for killing an animal, try killing a deathclaw and taking their eggs. Red Lucy might think about it.

Also, you got killed by the geckos, so you kinda failed there anyway.

I'm taking that combat helmet of yours though, I hope you don't mind. And that frag grenade and two dynamite sticks.

Thanks.

Walking through a door and then another door, I go deeper into the factory. There's another gecko. I give him the one-two in baseball lessons. Translation: I swung my bat for a homerun, giving it brain damage and also killing it. Don't worry about it.

I also found an unopened Nuka Cola.

Guess what it tastes like?

Coca Cola.

Actually, warm, flat Coca Cola with a splash of radiation, but basically the same thing.

Whichever prewar idiot thought an irradiated drink was a good idea needs to be shot. Repeatedly. Seriously, I'm glad my world got out of the 1920's. These people were crazy. Thanks Great Depression. You were useful for something after all.

My thanks is actually genuine here, please accept it Great Depression Senpai.

I can't believe I just thought of that. Good thing no one reads my thoughts.

Unless an alternate version of me is sitting at a computer right now, dutifully typing away my thoughts and experiences, probably ending on some tangent or cliffhanger and wrapping it up as a chapter to post on a website somewhere.

Nah, the chances of that are ridiculous. Though just in case, I'll defend myself.

Disclaimer: I'm not a weeaboo, I swear it upon pain of death.

Wait. Does that mean that alternate me just willingly insulted himself for comedic appeal?

* * *

 _At the forth wall, a tiny, almost nonexistent fracture forms._

* * *

Most likely, I'm thinking too deep into this. Getting back to the previous subject; And don't get me started on the logs you find in the H&R Tool Factory in Westside. I'm looking forward to reading those again. For sheer hilarity.

For some reason, I always thought the hat that boss guy puts on was the one from the cat in the hat. Red and white. Commie-proof indeed.

There's some stairs. I'll go down them, because wherever the door in front of me used to lead to, the ceiling has caved in. Bummer.

At the bottom of the staircase there's a door that's suspiciously open. Sneaking, I sneakily look into the room that it leads to.

About five geckos are looking at me. My sneakiness needs work. I slam the door shut, and lean against it while I feel it rattle from the geckos scratching at it.

How to deal with this situation?

With dynamite, of course.

I don't have a lighter or a match, but I have a feeling…

That a lighter will materialize in my hand, which does as I hold the dynamite stick. It must be the same brand as the screwdriver, which is funky wasteland magic. Get one now at your local co-op for half off.

I'm going to get a kick out of this when I eventually join up with Courier and friends. It'll completely boggle their minds. Unless the Courier is an evil ass.

Then I'll do my damndest to kill them. Only I can have an unstoppable spree of stealing things that aren't mine. Though, honestly it'll be more along the lines of if they kill innocent people, eat them, that kind of stuff that will make me go on a manhunt for them. If they steal stuff, depending on what it is and just as long as it isn't mine, I could care less about.

Thinking about it now, I don't really want to toot my horn, but I'm essentially a backup protagonist. I know the players, I know the game (literally as well as figuratively), and I know how it could end. All I have to do is go to The Tops and brutally kill Benny, likely scaring any gamblers there for life as Benny has no reason to go into a room alone with just me as we've never met and for him, that would be sketchy as hell. So I'd need to kill him in public. House doesn't care who delivers the chip, just that he gets it.

So far I've also been pretty competent in killing things, though let's not let it go to our heads.

I'm likely to get a reality check soon. It's bound to happen eventually.

By the way, I should really toss this stick of dynamite that's wick has been burning while I've been thinking.

Oh fuck.

Quick, throw it through a crack in the door before it blows up in my face. I did that, and might have also ran away like a little bitch. Hey, who knows if the door will take the explosion without splintering?

 ** _boom_**

Ignoring that brief moment of smart cowardice, it seems I was right to fle- I mean strategically retreat. The door was blasted off its hinges.

Take that, incorrect Fallout physics! Realistic environmental damage that isn't scripted!

Any geckos?

Doesn't appear to be anything coming- oh hello level up screen.

Right. I decided to spread my points a little evenly this time, branch out a bit.

Wait, it's giving me a perk option?

I can't remember if it was Project Nevada or AWoP (That's A World of Pain) that gave you that option for a perk a level. Likely it was Project Nevada tho.

I'm going to get blown up or something soon for all these good things I've been receiving lately, I just know it. Hell I almost just did.

There. My Intelligence is an eight. Maybe I'll gain more common sense now.

The same sarcastic description plays, except it says INT +1 and Intelligence respectively now. To be honest, I was half hoping it would mock me for wanting to be smarter, but that's just me.

Stepping past the fallen door, I appear to be in an enormous room, bigger than the lobby with the trash bridge in it. Looking at all the machinery here, I'd wager a guess that this is where all the cigarettes are made. Five freshly dead geckos with pieces of their respective body parts are scattered all over the room. Seems I hit the sweet spot with the dynamite. I'm starting to get used to the gore.

That's good. Or is it? My hours spent playing this as a game is conflicting with the reality that this is my life now: I'm having trouble actually…

Feeling serious about the whole thing. Don't get me wrong, I'm beginning to feel tired, my heart stopped for a brief moment when I realized I was holding live dynamite, but it just doesn't quite feel real. And it's absolutely infuriating me. Combined with my general apathy, self-awareness that I'm basically talking to myself like there's a live audience watching as a way to not freak out, and the muddling thoughts that are more of imprints left by what I assume is Rick this is one big clusterfuck of confusion for my brain.

That sentence perfectly sums up my thoughts so far on this situation.

I sigh. This area isn't going to rid itself of geckos. Best get a move on.

Dust absolutely covers the conveyor belt. Guess geckos aren't interested in smoking. Maybe if I had Wild Wasteland… That reminds me, I don't even know what my trait perks are. I suspect one of them is Built to Destroy given the relative ease I'm having killing everything. The other I have no clue.

I go up some rusted metal stairs and onto a similarly rusted catwalk, which leads to an office. There are three geckos. The first, which is a baby, gets picked up by the weird skin scruff it has on the back of its neck and is thrown off the catwalk, where it goes splat.

The adult gets lucky and bites my leg, which feels like it's being slowly crushed. I lose my shit again like I did with Thorn, and utterly reduce the gecko's head to a crumpled pile of flesh. Said flesh spurts blood everywhere.

And I mean everywhere. The wooden bat is a surprisingly brutal weapon, considering it's essentially a glorified stick with a handle.

It could also be that I have eight strength so that fits into the equation as well.

I have a heavy suspicion my other trait is Hot Blooded. The "difficulty" must be on hard or higher, because every time I get sufficiently hurt, I tend to lose all sense of rationality and become a berserker, single mindedly focused on killing whatever's in front of me.

It also means that in game terms I'm half dead whenever the trait activates. While this is a good indicator of when I should stab myself with a stimpack, the loss of rationality is problematic. I'll have to temper my anger so I don't rush to an early death.

I'm also covered in blood now. Let me kill this last gecko that looks like it wants to run away, then I'll freak out about it. Last gecko, which is a juvenile, gets a nice serving of blunt head trauma.

Now I can freak out about being covered in blood. It feels nasty, smells horrible, and it is just grossing me out. I think I'll need to switch my not-bulletproof armor for something else, because I am not wasting precious water cleaning this.

I'm holding another stimpack. If there was ever a time to test whether or not the location of where I stab myself with it matters, now's the time.

Wiping some gecko blood off my neck with a rag I found on a table nearby, tentatively I take the stimpack and carefully press it against my neck. Slowly, I insert it and flinch as it pierces the skin. I don't have a fear of needles, but the sensation is uncomfortable. Administrating the miracle medicine, I sigh as I feel my body become tingly, signifying it's working. Thank goodness.

Then I retract the needle and discard it. Non-sanitary and useless once its purpose is served.

This needs to be done for every stimpack, as I lack the necessary things able to recycle stim needles. Namely, a bucket and a lot of alcohol for sterilization. While I could find a bucket, I don't have any alcohol on me. Why don't I?

I remember alcohol gives you Strength plus one, but here it also makes you drunk. No thanks.

Plus it tastes like crap. Shit, I left my whiskey at Trudy's saloon. Too late now to go back and get it, she's probably disposed of it.

I didn't want it anyway.

There has got to be a better way of doing this. Another point in favor of ditching this armor for something else, something that exposes the wrists or arms so I can stab myself in a less vital area and don't risk puncturing something I shouldn't. Stabbing myself in the neck during a firefight will not end well.

I find a safe I can't lockpick, indicated by my magical screwdriver not showing up. I'd call bullshit, but it makes sense in a weird way.

Does this mean if I find an actual screwdriver, I'll be able to pick any lock regardless of my skill? Something to try out later.

There's a message located on the terminal resting on the desk. Figuring out how it works isn't hard as it's literally an old computer. The message summed up says that Frank hired a bunch of mercenaries to scrub this factory clean of geckos.

Obviously, they failed.

I must have a case of competent person syndrome, because considering I've killed most of these things with just a baseball bat while mercenaries, who usually have guns, were killed by the geckos.

They must have been some pretty shit mercenaries.

Making my way down the steps, I pick up anything of value in my sight and continue on my merry way. Going up the ramp, I vaguely remember something about a gecko boss, one "Smokey" to be exact. I remember him being pretty big.

The fight against Smokey starts off with a bang. Taking the other stick of dynamite, I toss it through the metal door where I remember him spawning and stand to the side, ready to ambush Smokey should he come through. One boom later, the noise of what is likely a gecko being blown up, it sounds it's already over.

My assumption is proven wrong, when a very large and very angry gecko charges the door. With a ear piercing shriek, the door flies off its hinges, and would have hit me hadn't I moved away from the impact zone.

At this point, I realized how much of a fucking moron I was for taking on a boss monster unaided by chems. It's not my fault, I haven't found anything other than steady, mentats, and a hydra so far. I'm too close to use my grenade rifle either. I should have backed away further when I threw the TNT through the door so I could have used it goddammit!

Useless!

Smokey does not share my regrets. In fact, he's not at all happy that I whacked him on the head seconds after he busted the door down. The overgrown Gecko shrugs my initial assault off with ease, and swings his arm into me.

It feels like getting hit by a truck. A very ugly truck. The impact was so great, that it knocks me off my feet and lays me down awkwardly on my back. My backpack is still on, because for some reason I didn't take it off before fighting a fucking boss!

I feel like a turtle who's been flipped on their shell. Smokey, who is rushing forward clearly intends to take advantage of this. He leans forward, his mouth near my leg-

 _ **Crunch**_

It hurts. It hurts so much. Smokey is chewing on my leg. Hot Blooded activating, I bash him repeatedly on the head with the baseball bat in a panicked anger frenzy. Adrenalin is pumping through my system, I'm sweating. My flurry of repeated strikes do have an effect as a lucky strike hits Smokey's eyeball.

Smokey let's go of my leg, the thing clutching its forehead screaming in pain. I strangle the opportunity to get untangled from my backpack. Reaching inside, I grab my machete.

Trying to stand up, I cry out in pain as my leg, which has been mangled by its time adventuring in Smokey's mouth, burns. I fall over on my chest. A clump of swears escape my mouth.

"FUCKFUCKFUCKOWFUCKSHITBITCHCUNTFUCK-"

Suddenly Smokey, who only has one eye opened now, charges me with his mouth open wide, likely trying to bite my head off. Twisting awkwardly, I shove my baseball bat in his mouth, where it promptly gets stuck, distracting and confusing it. As Smokey is turning, I take the opportunity to jump onto it's back by a very awkward leap. More of a clamber, really.

My machete plunges into Smokey's backside and the thing once again screams in pain. Smokey thrashes on and on, but my grip is that of steel. Hot Blooded ironically turning into a cold rage, a focus, I ignore the pain and scale the gecko's back, plunging my machete like a mountain climber would their pickaxe. Reaching my destination in what seems like minutes but is actually fairly quickly, I plunge my machete into the back of Smokey's neck.

It goes in at an angle, sadly not severing the spinal cord, but given that Smokey is screaming bloody murder, I'd say it still hurt like hell. Unfortunately, he is then successful at throwing me off. I go bouncing off the ground, fortunately protected by my metal armor.

Luckily, he's very distracted by the machete in his neck. Throwing a temper-tantrum, he has completely lost it. Thrashing, clawing the surroundings, and much more, Smokey is not dying very gracefully. Sadly for him, gecko arms were not designed to reach backwards.

In fact, he isn't dying at all.

"Hey, fuckboy!"

Smokey turning to face the voice of its tormentor, is utterly unprepared for the present I give him. Namely, a piece of candy known as a frag grenade. It flies into his mouth and the giant fool swallows it.

Realizing what I've done, I cover my face with my combat helmet, expecting that what's going to happen next will be very, very, messy.

Smokey, through what little visibility I have behind the combat helmet covering my face is wondering what the hell he swallowed, and is standing there looking very stupid.

 _ **KABOOM**_

Then he blows up, and gecko blood goes everywhere.

I knew that pinning that grenade to my waist would come in handy. Man I thought that gecko bleeding everywhere from before was bad, but dam-OHFUCKMYLEGITHURTS! The adrenaline wearing off, I become very aware of my mangled leg. Hesitantly, I look at it to see how bad the damage is.

The metal is bent, torn, whatever. It's ruined. My leg is also bleeding. Quickly pulling off the armored leg piece reveals my extremely mangled leg. Not unsalvageable, but it looks really bad.

I feel queasy. And in pain. A lot of pain. I have to insert at least five stimpacks into my leg before I stop bleeding and the damage becomes mostly superficial.

It's just a flesh wound.

Bah, I should have saved that joke for another time. Too late!

My leg bone is certainly broken. Reaching for my backpack with a tad bit of difficulty, I reach inside and pull out the Hydra.

Now how does this thing work…?

Oh, now that I can actually look at it up close unlike in the game, it's a bottle of dubious liquid. For some reason, I thought it was a gas that you inhale. Blame the noise it makes every time you select one in your inventory.

I'm using this over a Doctor's bag because I have no idea if the bag will give me any actual medicine, or just a fancy splint.

I should probably check that later.

I drink the Hydra. It tastes terrible, which is expected as I remember the recipe to make this included radscorpion poison. It's sour, incredibly so. Seconds after drinking it, a feeling of numbness spreads to my injured leg.

Much, much better. To be safe, I give it ten minutes before I try doing anything with my leg. While I'm waiting, I gaze morbidly at Smokey's exploded corpse.

Frankly, he looks like a combusted grey watermelon. I found out where my machete went, though. It ended up in the ceiling from the blast.

I spend a moment, gazing at it. I owe that thing my life. Without it, I wouldn't have been able to distract Smokey enough to throw a grenade in his mouth.

A chill spreads throughout my body as I realize just how dangerously close I was to being eaten. I don't really want to take the plunge and test if I have save states or not.

The next few minutes are spent in silence, both in the physical world and my thoughts. Finally, after I feel enough time has elapsed, I try standing on my leg. It still hurts to say the least, and I should likely go see Doc Mitchell, but my foot doesn't feel like it's trying to murder me when I stand on it.

Wicked. Fallout chems are pure bullshit.

Well, I've just had my first limb broken and subsequently repaired to a degree. This will likely be the first of many incidents involving me breaking my limbs.

How should I celebrate this milestone of my time in Fallout New Vegas?

I know.

To celebrate, I put a bunch of nuts in my mouth.

 **Stop that train of thought right now.**

Pinyon nuts you perverted idiots. Get those dirty thoughts out of your minds. Crunchy. Taste like nuts, which means they don't taste like anything.

Delectable nothingness, yum. Wash it down with some warm, purified water which is my first for the day, not counting the dirty water I drank when I woke up in the shack an hour or two ago.

I'm pretty sure it was two, maybe three hours ago. I don't have a clock or anything, so I can only guess the time by looking at where the sun is in the sky. Who wants to bet the pip boy has a clock in it? Hopefully the real life version does.

It takes some effort, but I'm able to push a crate slowly over to where my machete has bonded with the roof. Pulling it out takes even more effort on my part, but I manage. I put it in the backpack with a thankful pat on the handle.

Time to grab the loot and drag my sorry ass out of this cigarette factory. Two safes plundered, one I can't pick, are in the back of the factory. Damn.

I also find a crowbar on the dead mercenary in the back. I was unable to find my baseball bat, so it's probably in splinters.

You will be remembered for approximately ten seconds for your sacrifice, baseball bat.

Judging by the light outside, it's late afternoon. Stumbling out the factory door, I hobble back to Goodsprings, stepping lightly on my right foot.

* * *

Doc Mitchell frowns.

"Hydra works, yes, just don't go using it too often. It's known to cause bone degradation with overuse and since it's a relatively uncommon drug to find outside of a dedicated hospital, you won't find them often. Make sure you have a fixer on you before you go using one if you can't reach a doctor in a reasonable amount of time. Withdrawal symptoms are unpleasant, to say the least."

"Thanks doc." I manage to insert as much gratitude into my voice as I can possibly with my crap Charisma, which isn't a lot.

Doc Mitchell chuckles.

"No, thank you. Not every day I get patients, especially from the least likely person of our little settlement to come visit me. You're paying me after all."

Fun fact: Despite being terribly antisocial and hating of human contact, Rick was considered a resident of Goodsprings by a large majority of the population that live here. I'd like to ask the good old doc for specifics on any knowledge of Rick's past life before I kicked him out of the driver's seat but I can't do that without coming off as suspicious or amnesiac, neither of which I really want to be classified as.

Don't want him thinking I'm crazy. Which ignoring maybe-sociopathic tendencies, a propensity for wrath, and talking like there's a live audience watching, I'd like to think I'm reasonably sane.

"You got off lightly to say the least. You already healed most of the damage with all those stimpacks you used. The torn skin of your leg is mostly superficial. I've removed most of it, but your leg will likely scar."

I will now proceed to wave the fact I'm self-aware I'm talking to myself for the rest of my time alive in this place with the subtly of a powered neon sign in a dark room. Hello imaginary people, it's nice to meet you. I hope we'll grow to become great friends during our journey together.

How was that? Not bad I think I hear you saying. Good. Time to think about other things that are actually important and necessary to my survival. Like listening to Doc Mitchell.

I grunt. "Thought it be worse."

Doc Mitchell, bless him, chuckles. "You're awfully calm for someone who was covered head to toe in blood. We had to wash most of it off before I could even get to diagnose your leg."

It's true. When Smokey went boom, blood got everywhere. My armor was covered in blood, my helmet was covered in blood, and the backpack was covered in blood. My things are currently sitting outside since I didn't want to drip blood everywhere.

Gave the residents of Goodsprings quite a scare when I shambled into town.

I also had to remove dried blood from my skin with a towel soaked with water. Pleasant.

As a result, I need a new backpack. One that isn't covered in the blood of my foes.

"Not the first time I've been covered in blood. Wound." I add the last bit as the doctor raises an eyebrow for clarification.

When I was little I got a bloody nose. Little me being the fountain of knowledge that he was, he picked at it. And the result…

Very, very, messy.

"So what exactly did you do to warrant such an injury? Mess with old Smokey?" The doc says jokingly.

"Actually, yes." comes my deadpan response.

Mitchell stares gobsmacked at me. Reaching a hand up, he scratches his mustache and mutters, "Frank will be pleased. Especially after he wasted all those caps on those mercenaries."

I chuckle.

"Why'd you do it Rick? There's nothing I can think of you gaining from this. You've always kept to yourself in that cabin over yonder by that old memorial."

"Planning on going on a journey of my own. Need the caps and whatever I could salvage from the factory. Tired of sitting in my shack all day. Bored."

"Rick, you hate people. You've sat here for 7 years doing nothing, why now of all times?"

Apparently, Doc Mitchell was one of the few people who knew Rick personally. Not enough to be a close friend, but enough to be an acquaintance.

Must have been a hell of a story, how they met, but I can't ask him. I don't feel the same hostility to Doc Mitchell as I felt when I spoke to Trudy. Guess the old saying about not biting the hand that feeds, or in this case, the hand that heals rings true. Because I'm speaking to him like a normal, civilized human being.

He leans forward slightly in his chair. I've been sitting on the bed that the player character first wakes up on, clad in nothing but my undergarments.

"Maybe I'm having my midlife crisis early. I guess I'll just have to deal with it." With this statement, I carefully stand up, using the bed as support. My right leg is in a light brace made of metal, not really restricting my movement, but is there to make sure my leg heals properly. The Hydra's done most of the work, doc pretty much just shoved a brace on my leg and checked the rest of me for injuries. Mostly bruising, but I'll live.

"You sure? The Powder Gangers-"

"Doc, I just fought an overgrown mutant lizard, and won. Some convicts who have gotten too big for their britches don't scare me."

"Though-"I start, walking for the door "Expect to see me frequently. Explosives and fragile human bodies don't mix."

"You're going to fight them?" Doc exclaims incredulously. He's gotten up from his chair and started following me.

"Someone's got to do it. NCR's a no-show, and I think you know just as well as I they won't leave this town alone forever."

"You're just one man, against dozens of hardened criminals! What makes you think you can kill all of them? Even if you came from up north, you haven't-"

I wave my hand in a complacent manner. "I'll be fine Doc, you just worry about patching me up when I eventually get my ass blown up." Doc Mitchell looks like he wants to argue further, but likely he knows he won't be able to dissuade me. Walking out the door and into the night, I walk over to my bloodstained backpack. Rummaging through it, good the books weren't ruined, I pull out the Cybernetics book and present it to Mitchell.

Doc Mitchell's eyes light up at the cover. "This is-"

"A Cybernetic Surgery Standard Edition, I know."

He takes it from me, flipping through the pages. "Where did you even find this? I've been looking for one of these ever since I found that voice modular implant…"

"The schoolhouse."

The doc adopts an expression one might use if someone ran over their dog. "So close?"

"Guess so."

He sighs, and rubs his brow. "Thank you. I guess you'll want a discount for any installation of cybernetic implants you might find?"

"That would be appreciated."

After that, the doc and I talk for a bit out on his balcony in two rocking chairs, watching the stars. Eventually I get up to return to my shack for the night, but Mitchell insists I stay for the night. "Let your leg heal more" his words.

So right now I'm laying down in the patient bed, staring at the ceiling. I can't sleep.

Is it time to talk about my stance on the factions? Not like there's anything better to do.

Let's start with the Legion.

Fuck. Them.

I could go on a long spiel on how slavery is bad, but I won't because every decent human being says the same thing about it. I can see why people do it, the power trip of having someone under your foot, completely powerless to stop you…

It is in a human's nature to be dominating and cruel. Some of us are better at suppressing it than others. But. All of us, at one point or another, have thought of hurting one person at some point of our lives. Maybe we've even done it. Pride, greed, the rest of the darker parts of man… They all exist in us.

Me? I've accepted who I am. The darker parts of myself included. I'm not proud of them, but I won't attempt to justify my darker thoughts. Few people are willing to admit they have less than savory thoughts.

For me, I take pleasure in the suffering of those who prey upon the weak. The hunter becomes the hunted. Not proud of it, but it's there. You could say I see Dexter, the serial murderer who kills other murderers, as someone to be admired for his conduct against criminals.

TV show. Look it up. And I'm in a position to act it out. Poor Vegas raiders. You truly have no idea what's about to hit you.

I'll make what the Legion does to their prisoners look merciful in comparison of what I'm about to do to you, Fiends.

But I'm getting off topic and this is getting slightly personal.

Slavery. It's bad.

As for people who do it…

Well, that makes you a different kind of monster. At that point, you're an animal who only deserves a bloody death. I admit to being an individual who would rather resort to violence than forgiveness against people who deserve it. Nothing I can do will change that about me.

Basically my thoughts on the Legion? Negative.

They have no future either, as they are a society based on war. Once they run out of enemies to fight, they will turn on themselves like rabid beasts would an injured animal. They also pledge devotion to one man. If Caesar were to die, it would weaken them immensely. Caesar himself said that Lanius wasn't a fit leader. Kill Vulpes and…

It's not hard to guess what would happen next.

The NCR. A government based on prewar America values, such as democracy.

Totally not related: Fallout's America was blinded by extreme nationalism and they also bombed the planet along with the rest of the international gang of superpowers. Whose idea was it to base an apocalyptic government off that?

Ok, so there's that. It wouldn't be so bad if they weren't so damn incompetent and corrupt.

The NCR is completely helpless without assistance from the player.

Nelson? That's you retaking it, not them.

That spy at Mcarren? You killed him, not them.

The Battle of Hoover Dam? They would have likely lost against the Legion without your help.

It's also heavily implied that the shareholders have a little too much say in what the government itself does.

They hired Fantastic, who even a stupid Courier with an Intelligence of one can clearly tell that the man has no idea what he's doing. Funnily enough in the game, you can kill Fantastic in plain view of everyone and no one will care. He's that useless.

But you will fail "That Lucky Old Sun" so don't do it.

They're in business with the Silver Rush. Gloria Van Graff is an utter psychopath.

Note to self: Kill Gloria Van Graff at earliest leisure. Steal all their crap and sell it to Gun Runners as well.

The leader of Crimson Caravans isn't much better either. Alice McTaffy or something.

General Oliver is the one protecting Hoover Dam when that old guy at Camp Golf is clearly the better choice! They can't even protect their lands from raiders!

If the Legion was good for one thing, it's that. This is going a bit far, but I'd sooner have the Legion control the Mohave than the NCR. That's how much I hate them.

The NCR soldiers are mostly good people, the government? Not so much.

General assessment of the NCR? Not impressed.

Mr. House. A dictator, but compared to the other two, he's a much better option. He disregards those who live out in the wastes, yes, but he has a plan for advancing humanity into the stars, and off this godforsaken irradiated ball of rock. Compared to the other two, that's considerably better. Legion? Throwing civilization back into the dark ages. NCR? More interested in annexing everything in sight and accumulating territory that they don't even have full control over.

The Brotherhood of Steel New Vegas Chapter, aside from Veronica, are a bunch of asses. I wouldn't shed any tears if they died. House does make a very good point in committing genocide of that faction as his robots are very susceptible to energy weapons and power armor.

Also, their ideology is stupid. It sure as hell didn't stop the Fiends from getting ahold of Laser RCW's, though I wouldn't be surprised if Gloria Van Graff is selling energy weapons to the Fiends.

Remember people, House is taking us to space. Think about that before you get pissy. Speaking of which, Victor is nowhere to be found. Earlier, I looked everywhere, but no sign of House's spy.

Independent Vegas. This one's a toss-up. If I find that the Courier is a saint, I'll jump onboard in a heartbeat. If they are an evil bastard, I'll do my best to kill them. Should I be successful, I'll find Benny, kill him, take the chip, and get in contact with House. I do not have what it takes to lead a nation and it's not because of my Charisma.

Some people are born leaders and others followers. I'm more of a follower, however if things get to the point where an Independent Vegas is necessary and I find that House is off his rocker, with no Courier to lead, then yes, I will take the reins reluctantly.

God, I hope not.

So here's my list of candidates in order, starting from what I think is best to worst.

House (SPACEEEEE), Independence (Only if a Courier with good karma), Legion (Slavery, but no raiders, short term stability), and NCR (Corrupt as all hell, overstretched, and incompetent).

Dictatorship, Whatever the Courier decides, Traditionalist Slaver Society, and a corrupt Democracy. Such wonderful choices.

That reminds me.

I get up from the bed and hobble to the hallway next to the vigor tester. If this world has AWoP "installed" then the starter box should be here. Doc Mitchell has gone to bed and all lights save for the one on the porch are off.

Ah, here it is. Just like in the game, it's a nondescript crate that has no visible way of opening up. I scratch the back of my head. Maybe I should touch it?

Slowly I reach out a finger and yup, there's a floaty menu. I adopt a deadpan expression on my face. C'mon at least try to be real life…

There's only two I'm interested in. Pocket Warehouse and Home Buyer.

In AWoP there were these things called "4d storage devices". Don't ask me for the specifics, but I remember reading on a terminal in game somewhere that they converted objects to "hard light", similar to how a pip boy converts things to data. At least, that's how I remember it working.

Don't quote me on it though. It's not like I can look it up online to make sure I'm right.

Home Buyer would give me five thousand caps, which I could take to Frank's and buy a house, the abandoned one next to Doc Mitchell's house. I remember it carrying all the basic amenities like a worktable, reloading bench, a bed. More importantly it had things like a water purifier and an auto-doc.

What should I choose…

I'm planning on picking a fight with the Powder Gangers, so the auto doc would certainly be useful. But the backpack is cumbersome and limited, and I'm not willing to run the gauntlet of sneaking past the Deathclaws to get to Vegas early. It will likely be a long time until I have an opportunity to get my grubby mitts on a pip boy.

Unless, as I've said before, the Courier is evil. Then I can take it off their dead corpse. The only other 4d that I know the location of is in The Underground, and I'm certainly not going there without being my level being 20 or higher.

I select Pocket Warehouse. A merc charmer outfit materializes above me and something that looks like a sensor model falls into my outstretched hand.

The outfit is now draped over my head. I can't see anything. Put it on the floor.

Walking closer to the light I can look closer at the 4d storage, or rather, the **Gen IV 4D Storage Device** that's printed proudly on the back in white. The device itself is a small black rectangular box, with a central antenna on the front, like one of those remotes for remote control cars.

On the front there are several red buttons. There's an "on/off" button at the top right, accompanied by a button labeled "materialize" slightly inward. Four buttons serve as inventory management, one for up, down. The other two are assumingly for counting out how much of an item you want to take out. These buttons are centered around a screen that looks like it could belong on one of those old school calculators. There's also a hole labeled "emergency eject" near the bottom, but I'd need a pen or similar shaped object to use it.

Looking closer, the "antenna" isn't an antenna at all, rather a tube with a small led lightbulb at the end. It isn't long, only two or three inches in length. The antenna is retractable too.

Time to see if it works. I press the on button. The calculator screen flashes red, signifying it's on. I point it at the merc outfit on the ground and press "materialize". A white beam shoots out, hitting the outfit. It glows white, and is sucked into the device when the beam retracts.

I hold the device up looking at it. The calculator screen flashes and reads in red text: Merc Charmer Outfit Mark II x 1

I grin.

This will be so useful.

* * *

 **I'm still dead set on getting a pip boy, don't worry. Also the 4d storages are amazing cuz they increase your carry weight. They just deserve a shout-out.**

 **For anyone worried that this character is too strong, I'm planning an inserting more real life difficulty factors. Plus my game is on hard difficulty and I have Hardcore on. If you were in my position, you'd be trying to make yourself as powerful as possible as well.**

 **You're welcome to dispute my stances on the factions, just know it won't change my mind with how I'm deciding to end this fanfic. Next chapter will be similar to this one, though expect timeskips after that one.**

 **Edited 2/5/2019.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Guest (2): If by TTW you're referring to Tale of Two Wastelands, I'm afraid I'm not well versed in Fallout 3. I'd love to play the game, but my computer is windows 8 and Fallout 3 doesn't work on any computer that's running any windows operating system higher than windows 7. Fuckin stupid if you ask me. I know there's fixes to make it work on Windows 8, but this story is going to be LONG enough already, because there's so much I want to address in Fallout New Vegas.**

 **Plus, Rick/I, by the time he's/I'm done exploring (pillaging) the Mohave, (we) will practically steamroll through apocalyptic Washington DC. Max level and all that.**

 **It's still very early in this story to be talking about sequels, so I can't really guarantee anything assuming I even get to finish this. I intend to, but real life is a bitch. This fanfic could take years to complete for all I know.**

 **Assuming I can finish this, maybe a "dropped in another universe crossover fic" or an original fiction fic set in fallout-verse with Rick showing up to kick ass and take names?**

 **Dude, I would be pissed if I got dropped in Skyrim after surviving the world of Fallout…**

 **This chapter's also 8000+ words, though it's only b/c of the author notes at the end. Enjoy.**

Chapter 4 – All I need now is the ability to fly

* * *

It's morning. I awake in the patient bed, cracking my neck as I rise.

I feel stiff. And unclean. Usually I take a shower before bed. Obviously, I can't do that now. Nor can I brush my teeth.

Shit, are my teeth going to eventually rot?

I don't care if it's two hundred years old, I need some toothpaste and a toothbrush ASAP. Wonder if I can use something as breath mints until then?

Maybe I should have picked Home Buyer after all. I remember that the house had a bathtub that probably works.

I'd say first world problems, but seeing as the ruined nation I'm in doesn't even count as first world anymore, the saying isn't really valid.

I don't think anywhere can be called first world anymore. A pity.

Now that I've got a TV remote of holding, time to zap anything of value in sight. When I get five thousand caps, I can buy myself a nice home in Goodsprings.

Not waving goodbye to Doc Mitchell, knowing full well from experience that old people don't like to get up until lunchtime, I walk out of his house. Aside from the merc outfit and the 4D which I got sorta legitimately, I didn't steal anything from his place.

That would have been a dick move. Also, I expect to see him a lot in the coming days.

Don't steal from your doctor. Or the man who cuts you open to put implants in you.

Today, I'm planning to go mess with some Powder Gangers, visit Sloan and Primm, and go to Hidden Valley.

 _Why the last one?_ I hear you say.

See, I remember the location of a little implant known as Bionic Eyes. If I remember correctly, which I hope I do, they're in Hidden Valley, behind a "hard" difficulty locked door. I'm not planning on waving hello to the Brotherhood of Steel if I can, though if I do come across them I'll need to make a run for it.

Stupid lockdown. Their "hidden" base is so obvious too. Especially with the sandstorm that occurs at night that's **only in the fenced area**. I mean, what else could be there?

Communists?

They should have put a big sign saying "Home of the Brotherhood of Steel." An NCR platoon could come across it and they wouldn't look twice at it. Because the NCR are a bunch of overextended incompetent dipwads wrapped up in bureaucratic red tape and don't even show up to take care of the Powder Ganger and Deathclaw problems, so that would never happen.

There was that one ranger, but he was a special case by actually taking initiative unlike the rest of the boy scouts.

Boy scouts. That's a good insulting name for NCR troops.

Hidden Valley. It sure was hidden alright, so put it in the name. It's not even a valley. More like a collection of weirdly shaped hills with AC units sticking out of the ground. And no one suspects a thing. Totally not an occupied bunker or anything under the surface, nooooooooo, that would make too much sense.

While I've been thinking, I've taken all my crap to the abandoned gas station on the outskirts of town. Going inside, I see that whats-his-face hasn't moved in yet. The Crimson Caravan guy. Sorry dude, I'm bad with names. I only remember important people. Though why am I thinking of "Bingo" all of a sudden? No matter.

Pulling everything I've accumulated during my time here out of the backpack, I lay it down on the counter. I could do an inventory check, but theoretically if this is a fanfiction and I was a reader, I wouldn't care diddly squat what the si guy has, only that he get his ass moving and go do something that involves _**ACTION**_.

So I won't. The only things of real value I have are the Stealth and Medicine skill books. These aren't to be confused with the magazines, as they provide permanent skill raises as opposed to the temporary skill boosts of the magazines. But I'm sure anyone who has played FNV knows this, and is tapping their foot impatiently silently urging me to get on with the story.

Fine, you impatient bastards.

I zap everything with my 4D storage and it all goes into the magic box.

 **Was that short enough for you?**

Got nothing to say to that, do you? That's what I thought.

…

I need friends. Talking to myself like this cannot be healthy. Dumping my broken, bloodied metal armor, I put on the Merc Charmer Outfit Mark II. It feels much nicer to wear and ooh, protective padding. Probably won't stop bullets, but it's the thought that counts.

Taking a freshly moist towel, the same one I used to remove Smokey's life juices from my body, I begin vigorously scrubbing the bloody combat helmet.

Wash off, damn you!

Ten minutes of scrubbing later, I finally lose patience and give up. I've been successful in removing some of the blood, but a large amount still remains.

Stupid gecko blood.

Shrugging, I put it on my head. Maybe if I find another combat helmet and do my voodoo repair ritual, the helmet will magically become clean. I wouldn't be surprised.

By the way, I did look and see exactly what a doctor's bag was. It basically is a tiny field kit for treating an injured limb, complete with braces, surgical tools, some kind of nondescript bottles labeled "painkillers" and "antibiotics "respectively , that kind of stuff. Not as useless as I'd thought it would be.

Lastly, I tie a surgical mask I found in a metal box somewhere around my mouth. Now if only I had goggles or sunglasses now, I could be edgy and hide almost all my face from view. Though if my plan for Superman eyes goes off without a hitch, I might not need eye protection anymore…

Tucking the 4D remote in my pocket and slinging the grenade rifle on my back, which is secured there by creative usage of a combination of two leather belts, and making sure that the crowbar is secured to my waist, I walk out the door.

Walking through town is nerve-wracking as usual. There aren't many settlers up yet, not that I can blame them as there's not really much to do around here. Unless you're like me, who tries to get so very hard to get killed every day. Makes life interesting at least.

I'm going to eat those words one day I bet. Still no sign of Victor, which means he's probably off doing House's dirty work. Just as well, as I don't really want to talk to him. I walk past Frank's store, passing the modded girl who sits outside. She waves at me. I wave back.

How nice.

Now that this isn't a game anymore, well sorta… I notice how fucking boring it is walking to places. I can't pull a game avatar's constant jog either, meaning I have to walk to my destinations. I'm an indoors person, so my sense of wanderlust is almost none.

Now I really wish I had a pip boy. Then I could at least listen to some music. But who needs music when you talk to yourself on a regular basis? Not me, that's for sure.

…

I really need to find and conscript a companion as a following buddy soon. My sanity cannot take this. I refuse to be like that one Nightkin and use a brahmin skull as an imaginary friend. Raul, as soon as I find a missile launcher, I'm coming to rescue you. Whether you like it or not. I need you. No-homo. Your body is too sexy for my mind to even comprehend having sex with you.

That was sarcasm, in case you missed it. Not into necrophilia. I know they're technically not dead, but ghoul bodies are just better preserved corpses. That still move and stuff. Brainzzz… now that I think about it,"zombie" is probably a racist slur for ghouls. Stopping now.

I've arrived at a place. Jean Sky Diving. I open the door. A Powder Ganger is sitting in the seat, staring at me. This is awkward. Right, AWoP makes one spawn in here.

"Who the fuck are yo-"

Not wanting to be shot again and throwing what little morality I have left out the window, I bum rush the convict. Unluckily for him, he's still halfway in the process of getting out of his seat and reaching for his sidearm, a 9mm pistol. My crowbar's blunt end slamming into his face ensures he doesn't get a chance to use it.

The guy falls over backwards in his seat, his head colliding with a metal locker. He doesn't get up. I slit his throat with my machete. Can't leave any chances.

That's two now. Two people I've killed, this one a little less justifiable than the first. It's a pity with my apathy and new found sociopathy I don't give a damn. Though I'll keep count.

Can't become an absolute uncaring monster, now can I?

Grabbing the key on the desk I use it to unlock a locker, which has ammo and weapons in it. I found boxing tape. You didn't ask for it, but here's some information on boxing tape.

Boxing tape doesn't magically appear on your fists. Instead it's presented as a couple of loose, sticky strips that I would have to wrap around my hands to use.

Here at Fallout self-insert incorporated, we teach you stuff alongside providing a great source of entertainment.

Looting the guy's body, I take his gun and some spare ammo I found in his pocket. And some dynamite, about five sticks of it. There was also a key in the vest he wore, which probably goes to the basement in this building.

Touching a dead body is a novel experience, and you should totally try it.

P.S. If you decide to commit murder after this, I don't know you and am thus blameless. Check with your doctor before deciding to try murder, it might cause unhealthy side effects, like death.

AWoP again. Original building didn't have a basement.

Unlocking the basement the two trapdoors open to what looks like a bunker. Carefully, I step onto the stepladder that provides a way of getting down.

Walking through the slightly musty halls I open the first door I see. It leads to a cramped room full of rusty lockers and file cabinets. A dresser greets me at the end, turning to the right, the room leads into a bigger room that might have once been a miniature hospital.

Except for the fact that's its completely trashed. An operation table turned over here, some sarsaparilla crates thrown haphazardly here…

God, what a dump. Looting everything in sight yields a couple stimpacks, some empty syringes, couple medical tools, and my first "melee" drug.

Med-X.

For the sake of not being an idiot and getting high, I don't stick myself with it. Besides, I have enough dynamite to blow everything in this cramped space away.

Walking out through an additional side door, I see some graffiti.

"Quit your whining." Who the fuck was whining, and was it really so bad as to have to write your response on the wall for the world to see?

"Fuck the NCR!" As these were former convicts of the NCR, this one at least makes sense.

Looking down the stairs, I guess I could walk down there…

But I also remember there being guys down there, so I have a better idea. Taking a dynamite, MAGIC LIGHTER~, and lighting it, I toss it down the stairs and back away.

I cover my ears. The dynamite goes off and it isn't long before angry voices can be heard from around the corner. Taking another TNT stick, I'm already lighting it as the first Powder Ganger comes across the corner. Giving him a cheery wave with my hand clutching the lighter, I throw the lit dynamite at him.

It bounces on the steps, and comes to a stop at the guy's feet. He dumbly looks down at it, eyes widening when he realizes what it is. Powder Ganger goes to backpedal and run away, only there's two more guys who have shown up behind him, and are blocking the way.

He yells frantic curses at them to move the hell out of the way, but to no avail as the dynamite goes off.

The bright light of the explosion covers the men for a brief second and in the next, chunks of flesh fly off, blood sprays everywhere and I should really stop before this gets too nasty to read out loud in my head.

So that's what a human looks like blowing up in real life. My morbid curiosity has been satisfied.

Don't look at me like that, I bet you were thinking it too, you self-righteous hypocrites. If I'm apparently a sociopath now, I might as well make the most of it.

I wait, holding another stick of dynamite.

And wait.

And wait.

Either I got all of them, or real life Powder Gangers are more smart then their in-game counterparts. Not going to stop me from killing all of them, but I guess it means they're not all stupid.

Putting away the dynamite and un-slinging my grenade rifle, I carefully turn the corner. Ignoring the dead guys, I make eye contact with another Powder Ganger sitting there, looking awkward as he's holding some dynamite with a lit match next to the wick.

We're at an impasse. I'm too close to him for the guy to throw that dynamite without getting caught up in the explosion himself, and he's too close to me for usage of the grenade rifle.

For a couple seconds, we stare at each other, neither of us wanting to move for fear of the consequences. Then, another guy appears. Shit, he has an advantage.

"Holy shit, Deathclaw!" I yell out and point, causing the guy in front of me to turn his head hurriedly, because unlike players of the game, deathclaws are the literal devil for wastelanders.

Also, he's an idiot.

Pressing the trigger, the second guy gets blown to pieces while his friend in front of me watches. Then, taking the grenade rifle, I bash the other guy atop the head with it, causing him to stagger and fall over. Dropping the rifle, I pull the crowbar from its fixed position on my belt and begin hitting the guy with it. To his credit, the Powder Ganger rolls over from his position and catches the crowbar. Now we're in a tug of war match of who gets the crowbar.

"The fuck you have against us man?! We didn't do nuthin to you!"

I go for a cheap shot, and stomp him in his privates. While he's rolling on the floor cussing, I stand over him like a Sword of Damocles.

"Nothing?" I put my foot on his chest to stop him from struggling. He doesn't try to kick me, likely still paralyzed from the waist down due to my kick. He gazes fearfully at me.

"Who says I need a reason against people like you?"

With this statement, I raise my crowbar over my head and swing it down. It makes contact with his face, causing his head to slam down on the metal floor of the bomb shelter.

He doesn't move again.

A feeling of sickening satisfaction makes its way through my system but I mercilessly crush it, forcibly inserting a feeling of indifference.

No matter how many people I kill, I must never take pleasure in it. To do so would be becoming no better than the common murderer, even if I only kill the guilty.

As much as I admire Dexter, I don't want to be him. Only kill because I have to, not because I want to.

That's what, seven now? Seven people I've killed.

And yet, I feel nothing.

Getting up from the dead man, I loot the bodies of his comrades. Stepping into the next room, my gloomy thoughts on killing suddenly disperse as I find a body.

A half-eaten body.

Chunks are cut out of it like one would a dead cow or pig. The head is missing, the bloody neck exposing it's insides for the world to see. The right arm and left leg have been removed, and looking at a nearby table I see a bloody piece of what is likely human meat lay there on a plate, with a fork stuck in it.

I stop feeling disturbed at my thoughts of sociopathy as they turn to indignant rage.

Cannibals.

If I felt guilty for killing the guys before, those thoughts have taken a trip to another planet, no, solar system.

Now I wish I didn't kill the guy from before, if only so I could torture the ever loving fuck out of him. For example, I could stick an empty syringe in his eye, suck it out, and feed him his own eyeball.

Walking past the mutilated corpse I offer a silent prayer for whoever the poor bastard might have been and proceed to take everything of value. In the refrigerator I found some "strange meat", which is called that because fnv developers were skittish and too afraid to call it a human steak.

Walking into the next room, there's another body chained to the wall. This one has knives sticking into it, like it's highlighting the "tasty" sections of the human body.

Disgusting.

Resisting the urge to vomit, which has returned with a vengeance, I sit down and read the nearby working terminal. The first four entries document the life of a family as they are subsequently discovered by Powder Gangers and are fighting them off.

The last entry details how one of the cannibals will make a nice stew out of the boy.

Feelings of rage consume me, and I spend the next few minutes sitting at the terminal, doing nothing but reading the logs over and over.

You don't understand. Before, this was a game and players had a feeling of disconnection to the game as there are no real consequences when you can save and reload. No real attachments to anyone beside companions, for why should anyone else matter when you would likely only see them once per playthrough?

But this is real life now, and that feeling of disconnection and apathy is absent, replaced by a sinking feeling in my gut.

My eyes parse over the beginning sentence of the last terminal entry.

 ** _Heh. That stupid kid will make a damn fine stew._**

My fist clenches and my teeth grit.

Slowly, I stand back up, and proceed going back to looting anything of value. Eventually, the result of my scrounging has pays off. I found a Chinese Stealth book in the bathroom. I-

I…

…

I feel sluggish. With my inward rage having no output, I feel…

Empty.

After I trudge out of the bomb shelter, I walk behind the table, managing to retrieve the chair from my second human victim to sit down. I collapse into it, and put my face into my hands.

Why am I here?

The charm, the novelty, it's all worn off now. Seeing that dead family, all cut up like food to be eaten has scraped away my previous positive thoughts and left a hollow feeling in my stomach.

Right, Fallout. A game that often shows the worst of what humanity has to offer. Where criminals, rapists, and worse can get away with what they please, because there's no global organized superpower looming over them like big brother. They build their petty kingdoms out in the wastes, getting drunk off their own power and preforming heinous acts with no fear of retaliation, because who will stop them?

I sit there for at least an hour or two, pondering my previous outlook on life. I don't move at all during this time, electing to remain with my face in my hands, elbows on the desk. My thoughts churn with acts of violence, crimes against nature, and lack of organized government.

 _ **Stupid kid will make a fine stew…**_

 _It was at this point that "Rick", whose previous thoughts on the scum of society were low to begin with, boiled over and as a result, Rick became more and more steadfast in his hatred. His mind clouded with anger, and a cold, primal rage burned within him. Silently, he swore that day that any raider, cannibal, or criminal he came across would meet a brutal and lengthy demise at his hands._

 _Companion perk gained: **Marauder Antipathy- While "Ricksaw" is a companion, you get a 20% damage boost and damage resistance against Raiders, Cannibals, Lowlifes, and NPC's with negative karma.**_

 _The perk icon is that of a frowning Rick in vault boy style, holding a struggling Fiend by the neck, other arm raised over his head poised to drive a combat knife through the Fiend's throat._

I found an answer to my troubles.

If the scum of humanity commits crimes without abandon because they have nothing to fear, what might happen if someone or something were to fill that gap?

Someone who commits crimes of nature so horrible against those that deserve it that preforming such acts in the area is tantamount to suicide?

I think… I've found my calling here.

How ironic. Becoming a sociopath is beneficial in this case. No need to worry about such silly things as "ethics" and "morals" when dealing with scum, no, not at all…

Eventually, I get up and go outside.

Three Powder Gangers. Two pacing about, one standing next to a crate.

I blow the first and second men up with my grenade rifle. The third I walk up to, and proceed to murder the panicked third man with my crowbar's sharp end ending up in his neck. I pull it out.

Good riddance.

Yesterday, I bought a shovel from Chet's.

It'll be finally used for its intended purpose now. Under the desert sun, I dig two graves. It's hot, and I have to take breaks every ten minutes or so to take a drink of water.

Finally, I finish. I go back into the building, and down into the bomb shelter. Reaching the first mutilated corpse, I pick it up and drag it upstairs.

The experience is not pleasant, but I pay no mind to the cumbersome shape, or the muffled stink of days old carcass. My surgical mask is working as intended. I lay the first body in its hole, and bury it.

Then I get the second one. This one is more difficult to remove, as some monster has chained it to the wall, cutting limbs off but leaving the stumps.

Sliding the bloody chains off works. I also remove the knives. On the way out with the body, I "accidentally" step on one of the cannibal's heads, electing cracking and wet squelching noises due to the combined weight of the corpse and I.

 **Oops.**

Dragging the body out of the shack, I place a photograph I found of the family with the body.

I suspect this cadaver I dragged out is the son. I bury him. The shovel is left standing between the two graves at the edge, serving as the marker. The graves are located near the strange plane.

Before I became Agnostic, I used to be Christian. Ironically, what drove me apart from the church was my violent hatred of murderers, rapists, and the like. I felt unfit to be a Christian, and too accepting of religion to be an Atheist, so I chose to sit on the fence between Religion and Atheism.

I'm sure God won't mind if this lost sheep says a prayer for these poor souls.

I clear my throat, and clasp my hands together in genuine prayer, something I haven't done in a long, long time.

"In your hands, O Lord, we humbly entrust our brothers and sisters."

"In this life you embraced them with your tender love;"

"Deliver them now from every evil and bid them eternal rest."

As if God himself was listening, a slight breeze picks up.

"The old order has passed away: welcome them into paradise, where there will be no sorrow, no weeping or pain, but the fullness of peace and joy with your Son and the Holy Spirit forever and ever."

"Amen."

My first true prayer in years. Likely my last, as the crimes I'm about to commit for the good of mankind will damn me to hell. With that final word, as if Fallout New Vegas was waiting for a signal, the level up sound plays and the wind, which is causing dust to scatter stops.

Everything stops.

It waited for me to think my life out and bury the bodies before popping up?

I don't know whether to be thankful or exasperated.

The menu pops up in front of me. I stand there silently for a moment. Mechanically, I allot my points. Lockpicking is now 55.

All the perk options from before are here as well as three new ones. The first newcomer is…

Cannibal.

I stare blankly at the perk, expecting rage but finding none.

Cold indifference is all I feel. I gaze upon it like one would a half-dead rabid animal: Ready to put it down for good, but also possessing the wisdom that a cornered animal is a deadly one.

I elect to pretend the perk doesn't exist.

The next two, the only ones that are new, are Educated and Comprehension.

Educated will add two extra skill points I can direct to whatever needs leveling, while Comprehension will double the gains of reading temporary skill boosting magazines and adding an extra skill point gained when I read skill books like the Chinese stealth book.

Considering that there are a lot of books like that around in the wasteland, Comprehension would be the better choice. So I pick it.

 **Comprehension – You understand books better. Nerd.**

Kinda short. The sarcastic description brings some life back into me and slowly but surely, I return to treating everything as a joke once more.

But I'll never forget what I witnessed today. I won't forget the bodies, the fork, the human meat, and the logs anytime soon.

I'm glad I killed those men.

As time resumes I stand silent in front of the unmarked graves, my hands clasped behind my back. Then I turn around, and forcibly make my demeanor do a one eighty. Even back on my old earth, I was remarkably prone to mood whiplash.

…

So, how does reading in this version of kinda-real-life FNV work exactly?

Taking my 4d remote out and selecting the Chinese Skill book, which doesn't take long to select because it lists everything alphabetically, with numbers before the letters, I press the button labeled "materialize". The storage device shoots a beam of light out of the antenna lightbulb thing at the front, where the light takes shape of a book. The glow dies down, and there lays Chinese Army: Special Ops Training Manual, proudly displaying its bright red cover in the dirt.

Picking it up, I brush some sand off the cover. I open it. Surprisingly, I don't "eat" the book. To be honest, I was half expecting to.

Damn, I actually have to sit down and read this. That explosives crate will make a good seat.

Just need to push this dead guy off first, give me a min.

It's actually an interesting read. The Chinese were surprisingly resourceful at being sneaky. The portion that was available for me to read talked about breathing techniques they would use to reduce noise output when they had to take a breath of-

 **Your Sneak has increased by 4.**

Hello, disembodied gender neutral voice in my head. That's going to happen for every skill book, isn't it? Oh, the book disintegrated into nothingness. In hindsight, I should have seen that coming.

I have another Chinese sneak manual in my 4d. Materializing it, I stare at it skeptically. Will it say the same thing?

Only one way to find out. Opening it, I read about the complexities of crawling, which has to be done carefully depending on what said stealthy person was wearing. Normal clothing and light armor are easier to sneak with, while heavy armor has to be handled more carefully. The Chinese compensated for this by-

 **Your Sneak has increased by 4.**

Once again, the book dissolves into nothingness. Hey, I wasn't done reading that out loud in my head! Now the imaginary people will never know how the section finishes.

Inconsiderate skill books.

We have a Medicine one as well. Guess I'll read it too.

 _The forearm is composed of two bones, the ulna and the radius. The hand bones are split into three different parts: carpus, metacarpus, and the phalanges. There are eight bones that make up the carpal group: pisiform, triquetrum, lunate, scaphoid, hamate, capitate, trapezoid, and the-_

 **Your Medicine has increased by 4.**

Trapezium. I wasn't done reading that, you fuck.

* * *

Sloan, quite frankly, is a shithole. The buildings are constructed out of dirty sheets of metal. There's a stink of rust that accompanies you wherever you go in this town, if you can even call it that. The guy in the road warned me of the deathclaws, and I told him I wasn't interested going that way.

He looked at me like I was crazy, which I don't blame him. For him, this place is a dead end, no work happening and the workers are just milling around.

For me, it's the location of two skill books.

But first, time to use the outhouse. There is toilet paper provided, if anyone was curious. Looks like the NCR can at least get that straight.

After my bathroom break, I go and fix Snuffle's leg. Taking some antibiotics from my doctor's bag, I slather it on her leg. Using the boxing tape from earlier, I wrap up her back leg and attach a splint to it. I think this is how you did it in the game. Regardless, it seems to have worked, as she's nuzzling me in thanks.

I also assemble the generator, which I actually put together piece by piece fully aware of what I'm doing. Weird, because I sure as hell couldn't do this before. Having your life become an actual game is weird in general.

I don't bother talking to that guy from earlier because I really don't care about NCR rep.

Also, talking.

Ugh.

Using a stealth boy for the first time is extremely strange. The device, when placed on the wrist, snaps on and awaits usage. You then have to push the little red button and fwoosh, you're invisible.

It muffles your footsteps too. I stomped the ground as loud as I could, and the noise that came out was a pathetic puff noise. Invisibly, I shrugged.

Sneaking inside the worker's barracks is easy. I merely wait for a wind to pick up outside, then open the door as if the wind blew it open. Rickety. Poorly made. Sneaking on my legs, I walk in. The guy who always watches the other's stuff is here.

He gets off a bed to close the door. While he is, I take the opportunity to nick a Duck and Cover off the shelf. When he returns to fix the generator, I then nick a Deans Electronics.

The books both turn invisible while I'm touching them. Opening the door as if a strong breeze blew once more, I leave.

That was easy. To celebrate, I go into the office lounge and steal all the workers' paychecks from the trunks. Doesn't net me much, but it's still caps.

I love using that line about celebration. The workers weren't working anyway. Ignoring omelet lady, I leave Sloan and continue on to Hidden Valley.

Surprisingly, I only trek for less than five minutes before reaching Hidden Valley.

How, how have the NCR not found these people yet?

Before I go in and do battle with Bark scorpions and possibly run from Brotherhood members, let's read these books first.

Dean's Electronics teaches me crap about engines.

 _Most common engines have 4, 6, or 8 pistons which move up and down in the cylinders. On the upper side of the piston is what is called the combustion chamber where fuel and air mix before ignited. On the other side is the crankcase which is full of oil. Pistons have rings-_

 **Your Repair has increased by 4.**

Finally. I was getting tired of reading that.

Duck and Cover!

 _Class A explosives are defined as possessing, detonating, or otherwise maximum hazard; such as dynamite, nitroglycerin, picric acid, lead azide, fulminate of mercury, black powder, blasting caps, and detonating primers._

 **Your Explosives has increased by 4.**

Big words. I know what everything is except picric, azide, and fulminate.

Now that that's done, we can continue onwards in our journey. Arriving at Hidden Valley proper, I'm beset upon by three Bark scorpions. They're not terribly hard to kill, as their carapace falls victim to my crowbar fairly easily.

I harvest their stingers. You just take a sharp bladed object like my machete and saw away at it. Don't use this as a guide for de-stinging pet scorpions as these ones are dead and abnormally large.

I take one step forward, and piss off about six more. They don't all come at once, though I have a hell of a time fighting them, trying not to be stung.

Little bastards.

After I kill and loot them all, I take my first steps inside the enclosed area. It looks just like it does in the game. Which means it looks suspicious.

AC units as far as the eye can see…

The first bunker I enter, I come across has a locked door I can pick. When I do manage to open it, I am greeted by a lot of crap in the way. I almost leave, but remember that things are hidden in these crap filled areas. Going back I squeeze between the rubble and am rewarded for my efforts by finding two mini nukes and a full ammo clip of 5.56 bullets.

I very carefully handle the mini nukes, as dropping them would be a really bad idea. Carefully, I set them on the ground and zap them before a stray bullet from nowhere hits them or something.

I use my surgical mask to wipe the sweat off my brow. Phew.

The second bunker I find, holds the discovery of something nastier behind its locked door.

A giant ant nest. I grab the box of 5mm ammo I found and scadoodle.

I think that leads to a redoubt actually…

I plan on checking the redoubts out later, I'll explain another time.

The third bunker leads into the camp of the NCR ranger guy I talked about earlier. He isn't here, but I do find a dirty water in a sack on the counter.

I can't unlock the door. This is likely the one I want.

Pulling out a sole Locksmith's Reader I found in the mailboxes of Goodsprings I flip it open. Unlike the skill books, the words blur before my eyes, kind of like when you do some last minute studying for a test.

Using my temporary insight, I lock pick the door open. First glance reveals a frag grenade to the left, but it's not what I'm looking for. Some shimmying through the tight space to the right reveals a wondrous bounty.

And when I say wondrous, I mean it.

An implant labeled "Bionic Eyes" is sitting on an ammo box.

Yes!

Along with the implant, I found various ammo, most notable being a missile, as well as some scrap metal and a steam pressure thingy. The steam pressure thingy's important for upgrading an implant that increases your carry weight if I remember correctly.

Unfortunately, not everything is sunshine in rainbows. As I walk out of the bunker I see movement in the corner of my eye. I turn my head.

A five man squad of Brotherhood Paladins are looking at me from roughly fifty or so feet away.

Really? Fucking really? I shouldn't have talked about meeting the Brotherhood, curse you Murphy's Law!

It's only made worse as it looks like them spotting me is purely accidental. They all look like they were just heading back to their bunker, just as I decided to walk out of one of the abandoned ones.

What the hell are they even doing out here?! I thought there was a lockdown!

One of them walks forward, raising a Gauss rifle threateningly. "Halt!" he calls out.

Do you really expect that to work, ever? I don't want a bomb collar on my neck!

I decide to give the tinhead a worthy response to his idiotic statement. Slowly, I raise my hand and give him the middle finger.

Then I run.

In hindsight, this is simultaneously the best and worst idea I've ever had. The best, because with them wearing that heavy rusted power armor I can certainly outrun them, and worst because I'm now dodging all manner of laser and plasma weapons.

You know that "chubby bubble girl" meme? That's me right now, only instead of bubbles, I'm holding an implant and there's BOS paladins behind me shooting Christmas death at me.

These guys have Star Wars storm trooper accuracy. How are they missing me so much?

A laser grazes my helmet, barely missing my ear.

Fine, I'll stop tempting fate.

Oh good, some asshole decided to close the gate at the other entrance. Ducking for cover behind a conveniently placed rock, I fire shell after shell of grenade shells at the approaching paladins, reloading frantically.

That one just fell over. Hah.

That one too.

I don't expect this to actually harm them, it's more of a distraction. Convinced I've made them wary of getting any closer temporarily, I pull the gate open and run for it.

After a lot of running later, all the way back to the area near Goodsprings am I finally convinced I lost them. I stop, resting my hands on my knees, panting. I made sure to run laps around the surrounding Powder Ganger camps. They probably won't kill anyone in Goodsprings because they don't know I hang out around there.

Was funny watching Powder Gangers look at me, and then see the scary armored men behind me chasing. They started throwing dynamite and firing shots at the Brotherhood members.

They're probably dead now, but their criminals, so who cares about them?

I don't.

My feet hurt. I was running with that brace on the whole time too.

Worth it. I hold the implant up triumphantly. Judging by the position of the sun, it's two, maybe three in the afternoon.

I skipped lunch. Damn.

Luckily on the way to Sloan I took all that hidden food supplies in that overturned truck you find nearby.

Banana yucca. It's an unholy (but delicious) combination of a banana and a pear. Tastes like a banana, but has the texture of a pear. Also is dry on the outside, moist on the inside.

It actually isn't as bad as it sounds.

Walking back into Goodsprings I make my way to Doc Mitchell's house. What happens next…

"Of all implants you want to start out with, you want me to replace your eyes?"

Considering this is the guy who was able to save a life by pulling bits of lead out of someone's brain, yes this should be child's play for you, Doc Mitchell.

Too bad I can't tell him that.

"Just do one eye at a time. If you fuck up, I'll still have a working eye."

Since I don't use a gun, losing an eye wouldn't be as bad for me as some people.

Doc Mitch grumbles about me being young and stupid. In his position, I don't blame him. To spare you a long process, this is a heavily abridged version of how the cybernetic surgery went.

Doc Mitchell strapped me down to the bed. Then he used knockout gas, which I'm surprised he even has. While I was in dreamland, Doc Mitchell took my left eye out and put it in a jar with some kind of preservative fluid in it. After connecting all those nerve endings and installing it proper, he woke me up.

"Well?" asked the doc. I was covering my still organic eye, looking out my robot eye.

My vision in this eye is lacking imperfections. 20/20 vision woot!

"Any idea how to trigger the alternate view modes?" asked I.

Doc Mitchell turns a page of the Cybernetics book and looks at it for a minute.

"It says try squinting."

I squint, and woahhh everything's green. Squinting again, the environment turns blue with the color red clinging to heated surfaces.

Common sense dictates I shouldn't remove my hand from my organic eye right now, not if I want a migraine. I squint once more and it goes a grayish white.

Doc Mitchell is sparkling like a Twilight vampire. The absolute horror.

"Yeah it works alright." Comes my gruff response as I squint once more and turn my vision to normal.

Then he installed the other one.

I've just replaced my eyes: the first of many body parts that will be likely removed in the future.

Yay, cybernetics!

 **Cybernetic Implant Perk acquired: Bionic Eyes- Through the power of SCIENCE (and modding), you can now see the world in night vision, thermal vison, and electromagnetic vision.**

Bidding the good doc goodbye, I leave for Primm to acquire friends.

ED-E. He's like the Glommer in Don't Starve. Being around him gives you a sanity boost.

When I arrive in Primm, the Boy Scout that warns you in the game isn't there. Actually, there isn't an NCR presence at all. Where their camp was in the game is just a bunch of sad, lonely looking buildings.

Guess the original sheriff is still alive. How early to the party am I?

I squint twice, and turn on thermal vision. No human shaped heat signatures here, no sir. There are however, moving heat signatures in Primm itself, which means they're outlaws or residents.

I don't have a scope or binoculars, so I'll have to get closer. Hopefully they're residents, because I don't want to be shot again.

Aware of the fact that this is similar to how I entered Goodsprings, I slowly walk across the bridge devoid of mines across to the town itself.

Getting closer, I see they are residents. Rick's misanthropic ass is growling at the residents which is another way of saying I feel the same pissed off and uncomfortable feeling I felt in Goodsprings and Sloan.

Just in case, I take a mentat. Tastes like a Mentos, a chalky, stale peppermint flavored Mentos, but one all the same. Hopefully it'll boost my Charisma to the point of not speaking like I hate the world and be nicer to Jonathan Nash.

I could use these as breath mints, if I wasn't so worried of getting addicted to them.

Glaring at curious residents and poor caravan people coming to play at "budget Vegas", I stand in front of the Mohave Express building, which also doubles as Nash's house. Sighing, I push the door open.

Inside, the residence is faithfully similar to the game, which is appropriate. A blue Mohave drop box in the corner. Better condition than the Goodsprings one, likely due to the fact that it isn't exposed to the elements. EDE's busted up robot body, which looks like a steel basketball with antennas and a bunch of random junk grafted on it is on the counter, looking very sad with itself.

I've half a mind to fix him and take him with me.

No, the Courier…

Can go suck a dick. I'm fixing ED-E and taking him with me. If Nash lets me try and fix him.

There's a radio playing a song I don't recognize but sounds decidedly 1920's-ish. Guess there is more music than what was in the game. Jonathan Nash is at the counter, discussing something with a man who is wearing a duster with the prewar flag of America on his back.

The man, hearing the door open, turns and looks at me. He's black, and has his hair in dreadlocks. A breathing mask hangs loosely off his neck, supported by a clip-on strap.

This is, without a doubt…

Ulysses.

* * *

 **Before anyone says anything, I know my companion perk is a better Sneering Imperialist. I'm aware. Warning you right now: The Fiends are going to meet an extremely brutal end. Given that most of you have all played this game before, you'll all likely agree on my opinions towards them.**

 **This is just a warning towards those squeamish towards gore as when we reach the Fiends, that portion of the story will likely immediately force this fic to become M-rated and will be more graphic than usual containing elements some might find disturbing, with a darker setting than the overall fanfic.**

 **Don't be fooled by that humor tag. I just decided there would be more humor than horror in this fic.**

 **Wait, don't run away! I promise it'll only be for that part! Come back!**

 **Please keep in mind before commenting that this character is a semi self-insert. The personality and thought process is mine, but last I checked, I was not a sociopath or whatever the hell Rick qualifies as now. This is a likely scenario of what would happen if someone with such strong feelings against criminals like me suddenly lost their ability to feel guilt for killing and was put in a position to act said personal brand of vengeance out. Especially after being pushed into such a place as Fallout.**

 **Realistically, your personality would likely undergo such a radical change in a hostile environment as well. Because let's be honest, as awesome as Fallout is, not a single one of us actually wants to live there.**

 **Besides, normal goody two shoes Si people are boring, so why don't we use one with such a distorted view on morals and ethics that isn't outright on the "evil" side?**

 **P.S. I do suffer from rapid mood swings irl. And yes, they are that sudden.**

 **And now, for something completely different.**

 **I'm debating whether or not to put a character profile at the end of each chapter, though eventually we will reach a point where I don't level up in a chapter, probably when we hit the thirtyish range.**

 **For anyone who might be worrying, the profile will not count for the initial chapter itself.**

 **No cutting corners here. For anyone wondering why I'm only level four, I've cut my exp gains by 25% via Project Nevada.**

 **Profile**

 **Name: Rick**

 **Level: 4**

 **Title: Defender**

 **Karma: Good**

 **Perks**

 **Bionic Eyes**

 **Built to Destroy**

 **Comprehension**

 **Hot Blooded**

 **Intensive Training (Rank 2)**

 **S.P.E.C.I.A.L**

 **Strength – 8**

 **Perception – 7**

 **Endurance – 8**

 **Charisma – 1**

 **Intelligence – 8**

 **Agility – 5**

 **Luck – 5**

 **Skills**

 **Barter - 7**

 **Energy Weapons - 19**

 **Guns - 15**

 **Explosives - 20**

 **Lockpick - 55**

 **Medicine - 26**

 **Melee Weapons - 40 (had STR+1 from Gecko steak in previous profile because I'm a dumb)**

 **Repair - 40**

 **Science - 22**

 **Sneak - 28**

 **Speech - 11**

 **Survival - 21**

 **Unarmed - 21**

 **Faction Reputations (New!)**

 **Goodsprings: Accepted**

 **Sloan: Neutral**

 **Primm: Neutral**

 **Powder Gangers: Vilified**

 **Brotherhood of Steel (New Vegas Chapter): Fugitive**

 **For anyone wondering about that "Fugitive" tag, it's because The Brotherhood knows that I, an outsider, knows the location of the Brotherhood base and have avoided capture or elimination. I didn't kill any of them, so that really doesn't warrant a "shunned", "hated", or "vilified" tag. It does mean they will likely send assassins after me however.**

 **Who knows how this will be resolved in the future…**

 **Expect timeskips in the next chapter.**

 **Edited 2/5/2019.**


	5. Chapter 5

**You know the best part about last chapter? I didn't plan the cannibal scene. That just happened by coincidence and snowballed from there. Saves me from having to come up with a half-baked excuse for getting a companion perk.**

 **Seriously, I forgot there were cannibals in that AWoP Jean's Sky Diving.**

 **Klutzybear: I have never played Borderlands, but I looked at Krieg's trailer. Damn. The similarities are uncanny. I need to make a reference somewhere in this fic. I have just the ideal place…**

 **Lonesome Road: Me, having no actual real medical knowledge whatsoever aside from helping a person having a heart attack, pulled it out of Tokyo Ghoul where Kaneki's breaking half of Ayato's bones. Blame my copying, I must have mistyped it. And shit, I could have sworn you spell Mojave with an h.**

 **I hate it when I spell things wrong. Why u no tell me, spellchecker?**

 **6000+ words.**

Chapter 5 – Whack a mole (rat)

* * *

Ulysses stares at me, his gaze impassive. My own gaze has apathetic cranked up to max. As far as he knows, I'm just a random stranger who walked into the Mojave Express.

Unless previous body owner Rick's about to pull a mysterious and troubled past card on me and it turns out he has bad history with Ulysses. That fucker better not. I'm only level four, and Ulysses is like level fifty and all his S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats are ten. If Ulysses has beef with me, the only thing I can do is run away, and it's unlikely I'll even be able to get away.

Ulysses does not fuck around. It's one of his defining character traits.

Not freezing up, thanks Rick, you lovable not-giving-a-fuck person that you are, I close the door behind me and move to lean on the wall. I wave my hand uninterested at Ulysses in a "go on" gesture, telling him I'm waiting in line. He continues glancing at me for a brief moment, then turns his head and resumes his conversation with Nash.

Wow. I just acted casually around someone as badass as Ulysses.

No unwanted history, I guess. Or maybe he'll shank me in the ribs on his way out. Nah, not his style. More like he'd fire a nuclear missile at all I love and hold dear.

Sorry, that joke needed to be made at one point. It's out of my system now. While the man himself is talking to Nash, let's talk about him (literally) behind his back.

Aren't I a bully?

Ok, so a bit of backstory on Ulysses. He used to be part of this tribe called the Twisted Hairs, if I remember correctly. Caesar came and conquered his tribe. Ulysses then became a fruity-

Erm.

Fruity-men-tary?

That sounds like some kind of candy. Mentally, I punch myself in the brain.

…

I've got it! Frumentarii, that's the word!

My memory gets a little hazy from here. Basically stuff happened, Ulysses left the Legion and traveled a lot, and eventually found the Divide, which showed promise. Then the Courier unknowingly brought a doomsday parcel which set off an earthquake or something in the Divide ruining everything.

Ulysses was a "little" pissed off at this. What happens next is what likely is occurring in front of me right now, him talking to Nash about the platinum chip package, and then he goes to Big Mountain or something. Maybe it was before this, I don't remember. Sends a message to the Courier's pip boy. Courier goes to the Divide, finds an invincible ED-E that can never die that has a soul or something, and they travel across the ruined landscape of the Divide. Along the way you accidently fire a nuke at Ashton, which Ulysses bitches at you for.

Good job, Courier. Your parents would be proud.

I've technically insulted myself and everyone else who's played Lonesome Road with that statement.

Meh. Whatever.

Then, later on, Ulysses is a dick and steals your robot buddy for launch codes or something. That he had for plot reasons.

Why did a random eyebot have the launch codes? And if Ulysses knew about it, why did he just leave it there and let you get it? I guess perhaps that if he did know about it, Ulysses would see it as some sort of poetic justice that you once again are the harbinger of doom for civilizations by bringing yet another doomsday parcel, this time in the form of an eyebot.

Right, it's been a while since I've played the Lonesome Road DLC so my memory on Ulysses' speech is a little spotty. I think the general gist was that he was bitching at you for blowing up the Divide and was pointing out weaknesses in the NCR and Legion. He also worded it very philosophical-ish and vague, so some people playing the game couldn't make heads or tails of what he was getting at.

I understood the message, though I don't remember what he actually said. It's been too long since I've played that DLC. Then, as a massive fuck-you to the NCR, he gave a prewar computer coordinates to launch a nuke at some important NCR outpost. Said something about cutting throats.

I remember that through some very carefully worded choices, the Courier could convince him to step down, and avoid fighting him. After that, there were four choices as to what you could do with the nuke.

Let it hit the NCR. (Be a dick to NCR)

Reprogram the coordinates to let it hit the Legion instead. (Be a dick to Legion)

Let Divide ED-E sacrifice himself in a blaze of glory to stop the nuke from launching. (ED-E NOOO)

And lastly, stick both of your hand's middle fingers at the NCR and Caesar's Legion by launching nukes at them both. (Apocalypse now, baby)

The Boomers are actually pretty stoked if you choose to blow everything up. Also the Powder Gangers.

Well, it's not my problem anyway. The Courier can deal with it. Unless, as I've said for the billionth time, they're evil. Then, I have to kill them, reach level forty-ish, go survive the Divide, and go up to Ulysses saying, "Look man, this is a really bad idea." and probably fail convincing him and have to kill him.

Then we can just launch it at the Legion. No one'll miss them.

You better be good, Courier, because I am not looking forward to having to do that. Ulysses has put his hands on the counter, drawing my attention. He tapped the charter, which from where I was standing, could see the names of what I realized were couriers on payroll to the Mojave Express.

"This courier right here… Hannah Ainsbury… she's still alive?"

Nash gives Ulysses a look, complete with a raised eyebrow.

"Sure as lack of rain she's still kicking."

Well, if anything, I know the Courier's a she. Hannah, huh? Thought it would be something more original. Least it isn't "Mary", or "Rose".

"Then I'm not interested. You can give the job to her."

"You sure? It's good money."

Ulysses has turned around and is heading for the door. He looks over his shoulder.

"No, let "Courier Six" carry the package." And with that, he left.

The amount of spite in his voice is truly something to be amazed at. I bet if I was in Goodsprings I could have felt it. Now Nash is staring at me. Guess that's my cue. I get off the wall, my hands in my pockets. Leisurely, I walk up to Nash.

I have a plan for overcoming my crap Charisma. Skip the niceties and be as blunt as possible.

"Got a message I want delivered to a person of interest."

"Right then. What's their name?"

"Courier Six."

Jonathan puts down his ledger and gives me a suspicious look, squinting his eyes. My neutral facial expression doesn't change.

"This a joke? Because I think the person you want just left the building."

Ugh. Goddamit Ulysses. Indignation and irritation that isn't exactly mine make themselves known, and I scramble to curb my response from being biting, trying to minimize the damage.

"No." came out as a growl. Dammit. Nash almost looks like he doesn't flinch, but I saw his right fist clench. I decide to lie and increase the validity of my… request.

"Employer didn't give me a name. Instead told me a message, one I had to take to the Mojave Express and give to person of interest "Courier Six". If that man didn't turn down the job, I would have given it it to him. But they were clear it had to go to "Courier Six"."

Just because I have no Charisma doesn't mean I can't speak coherently. It just sounds like I'm pissed at the world when I speak. Imagine a grumpy old hermit.

Jonathan Nash still looks suspicious. Rightly so, as I'm pulling this out of my ass.

"Who's your employer?"

Me.

"None of your business. I'm paying, so why do you care?"

Nash seems to cave in, realizing that I'm not going to budge on this. He sighs.

"Alright, I guess. The message?"

"Give me a minute."

Taking my 4D storage out, I materialize a clipboard with a blank sheet of paper on it. Also a pencil. I got this from the schoolhouse, if you were wondering. Putting my pencil to paper, I craft a message that is cryptic to anyone but the Courier reading it.

 _The checkered raider lies in the Jewel of the Desert._

 _Careful. Your actions have consequences._

 _If you value your life, choose wisely._

Short, but to the point. Granted if this reaches her before she gets shot in the head and loses all her memories, it might be useless. Then again, maybe not, if Doc Mitchell gives it to her along with any belongings she might have. That last part serves as both a warning and a threat because if she doesn't behave herself, something will track her down and kill her.

I made it vague enough to not spoil anything, and put enough in to throw her a bone. Although she might interpret the consequences part as picking the right faction to side with. It matters not to me, she lives, she dies, at the end of the day, the truth is that the Courier specifically is not needed to complete the Battle of Hoover Dam. Just someone capable that can pick up the pieces.

Almost put -a friend- as way of a calling card, but the term friend is inaccurate. I'm more of a… overseer. Watching her before I make my move.

And I did just threaten her.

I'll just leave it blank. Make it more mysterious. She'll probably ask Nash anyway, and now I'm glad most of my face is covered.

Likely, I'll change my armor many times over before I get to Vegas.

Plus, if I can bait her to Vegas, I'll be in a position to camp out near the Strip entrance, using the radio news to give me a rough idea of where she's been. When she appears (I'll be looking for a women wearing a pip-boy) I'll judge her character before revealing myself to be anything other than a bystander.

And if she's evil, I'll just kill her!

Yes, I did say that in a cheery voice, you weren't imagining it.

"Give this to Courier Six, whenever you see them."

Folding the note up, I hand it to Nash, as well as fifty caps for payment. He looks surprised at the amount of caps I give him for a simple note, but seems satisfied. Business transaction done, I turn my head to look curiously at ED-E. Nash catches my gaze.

"What's this thing?" Says me in Rick's default tone as I walk over to it slowly. Not the smoothest transition of changing the subject, but with my crap Charisma, it's as smooth as it'll get. Thankfully, Nash is thick-skinned and doesn't get a stick up his ass for my previous extremely suspicious request. Thanks for making that harder than it had to be, Ulysses and Rick. I had to hold myself back from saying something nastier than "no" earlier.

"That old bucket of bolts? Some pre-war robot. A courier left it off here a few weeks back. I've been trying to fix it, but no luck. Thing's junk as it is now."

"Mind if I try fixing it?"

"Sure, go ahead. It's yours if you can get it working again."

Phew. Social interaction is tiring. Time to fix ED-E.

Walking over to ED-E's sad husk I open his circuit board and do a lot of complicated stuff after materializing scrap metal, scrap electronics, and two sensor modules.

I kinda know what I'm doing, but I can't put it into words. Just know that whatever I'm doing, it's working.

It's like I'm a Tinker from the web serial Worm.

Worm-basically a realistic interpretation of what would happen if people had superpowers. This is a basic summary. Can't go into too much detail, go check it out yourselves, imaginary people.

Blame this gamer bullshit. My hands are moving on their own accord, just like the generator in Sloan. So while this is going on, let's talk about all that crap I just materialized out of thin air.

Sensor modules all look similar, which is expected as they all refer to one type of object.

Scrap Metal and Scrap Electronics are a bit different. See, scrap metal isn't just a pile of random crap clumped together like it was in the game, it's just the random individual pieces. A gear here, a stick of bent metal there. Scrap electronics is similar, it's just technological junk that comes in bits and pieces.

And… done. That was fast. I connect the main power circuit, and ED-E, whose been flipped over as his main circuit panel is on the underside, begins levitating and flips upright. Reaching over, I shut the panel with a metallic clank.

ED-E's beeping at me and bobbing up and down in a happy manner.

Internally, I just made a very unmanly sounding noise that if anyone else but you guys heard, I'd never hear the end of it. How can a steel basketball with a laser attached be so adorable? It's almost criminal.

No really, ED-E is absolutely adorable and anyone who says otherwise should go kill themselves.

"Follow."

ED-E beeps the electronic equivalent of a "yes sir!" followed with a notification in my face.

 **Enhanced Sensors- While ED-E is a companion, the player can detect enemies at an increased range. Additionally, enemies will appear on a player's compass and can be targeted in V.A.T.S even when cloaked.**

Wonder how that's going to work without a pip boy. Nash whistles.

"Well stranger, I guess it's yours."

Funny. I'd thought he'd say more. I wave goodbye and leave the Mojave Express, followed by ED-E. It occurs to me that if the Courier asks Nash who wrote the message, she could use the fact I have a companion eyebot as a way of recognizing me.

For the continued well-being of my sanity, it's a risk I'm willing to take. Better to have a companion that can blow my cover than become a nutter by the time I reach Vegas.

ED-E can't speak like a human, but I can feel my sanity already rising. Must be a sense of companionship or something. Don't need to hold a conversation with him either, which is a plus.

Actually…

I'm calling him Eddy instead of Ee-dee-ee. ED-E is a mouthful and will be a pain to say the letters when I can just shorten it by saying Eddy.

I turn to face ED-E.

"New designation: Eddy."

Eddy beeps a confirmation. That was easy.

We spend the next hour bonding by killing a lot of geckoes in the hills of Goodsprings. Eh, they'll respawn.

Oh wait. They don't.

ED-E's perk doesn't seem to do anything for me, which is a shame, but it won't stop him from traveling with me. I'll probably get sensory overload when I put on a pip boy and the perk decides to work.

I should mention now that while Eddy and I wander, I eat and drink without narrating it. Because that would just be silly and monotonous to do.

While we're at it, let's go to the Lone Wolf Radio shack place. There were raiders there, so being a total uncaring badass, I blew most of them up with what was left in my grenade rifle. I need more shells.

One of them grazed me across the cheek with a lucky bullet, though a stimpack was more than enough to stop the bleeding.

Eddy shot that same raider in the face. I'm so proud. Nineteen.

Looting the corpses, items of interest found include a 44. Magnum pistol Mark II, my 4D tells me, a fire axe, which is really good, and some normal metal armor. I remember there being reinforced metal armor mark II or something in AWoP, though I don't remember where it is…

See, it looks intimidating, which is what I want if I'm going to play bogeyman for raiders. Something to put on my checklist to worry about later. Completely stealing everything of value, I found two corpses in the shack, along with a note.

Tech Raiders?

AWoP hostile-to-all faction. Think Brotherhood of Steel if they were raiders instead of tech-hoarding pricks.

Damn, this is pretty bad actually. I remember finding one of their main hideouts when this was still a game. It was a nightmare. Most of them had high power weapons and armor. Stuff like sniper rifles and power armor. One guy even had an alien blaster.

Fucker caught me off guard the first time and killed me in one shot. It took three reloads to try and kill everyone without dying myself. And I was using an upgraded minigun mark II on my character. In this real life version of FNV, they are a very real threat.

Time to plot how I'm going to kill them all.

Again, I wish I could go to Big Mountain to get my hands on a Protonic Inversal Axe. One of those would be extremely useful against these guys. Because of all the power armor and re-purposed robots.

But again, I would be lobotomized. No thanks. A small part of me whispers the shooting myself in the head idea I half joked about before, but I'm not that desperate and insane to try that. There's no guarantee the brains would reach me fast enough to throw me in the auto doc.

Knowing the screened abominations, they probably argued with themselves for an hour before putting the Courier in the auto doc to be lobotomized. Or is it something else that does it? I dunno.

I wonder what my brain's personality would be. Hopefully not a snob like the Courier's.

Probably a wise-ass. Maybe be cryptic as fuck. But the real reason for coming here was for the Wasteland Survival Guide, which I lean against the wall and read.

 _A healthy person's urine is about 95 percent water and sterile, so in short term it's safe to drink and does replenish lost water. But the other 5 percent of urine comprises a diverse collection of waste products, including nitrogen, potassium, and calcium. Too much intake of these products can cause health problems._

 **Your Survival has increased by 4.**

Why.

Well, might as well make the joke now, it was going to come up sooner or later.

In the wise words of Bear Grylls, if I ever run out of water, the only thing I can do…

Is to drink my own pee.

There, I said it. Now let's pretend this never happened.

* * *

After I sell and buy some stuff in Goodsprings, I head to the Goodsprings sewer manhole. Going down the ladder, Eddy cautiously hovering down, I open the weird door thing by twisting the handle thing.

The ones that have the twisty knob in the center and are colored steel gray? Those ones.

I leer down the metal staircase. It's absolutely pitch black down there.

But I have magic eyes so it's no big. Thanks to them, I disable some bear traps hiding in the darkness. Opening the door at the bottom of the stairs, I come across another one of the wonderful creatures of the waste.

A mole rat. Now, Snuffles was a mole rat, but she wasn't that big, and I wasn't really paying attention at the time to her appearance. Now that my mind isn't distracted by cannibals, I notice how disgusting they really look.

Wrinkly pink splotched skin. Two mouth grabbing things that look like a messed up chin and nose followed by a frowning mouth in the back. Just take a look at a picture of one of the things, you'll see what I mean. Gives me the shivers. Doesn't stop me from beating it over the head with my crowbar though.

Walking through the quiet and smelly halls of the sewer, silence broken occasionally by the murder of mole rats and Eddy bumping into a wall due to poor lighting, we come across an exceptionally large mole rat. Fucker breaks my leg and then runs away like a little bitch. This things bigger than me. So I'm swearing up a storm, hobbling after it on one leg, Hot Blooded making me relatively ignorant of the fact my leg bone is broken.

Rage is a hell of a drug. I did catch it eventually. Drove the end of my crowbar through its eye. After that little excursion was done, the pain finally caught up with me. Used a doctor's bag for the first time.

Took five minutes to clean the wound and put a splint on it. Sure as hell couldn't do it during a firefight. I remember there being implants that fixed your limbs over time, like a constant hydra. Maybe I'll put one in me.

Then I killed even more mole rats and got a perk for it.

 **Animal Control (rank 1) - PETA would like a word with you.**

Hah! I knew it would say something like that!

Leveled up as well. No new perks, so I guess I'll pick Intensive Training again. My Intelligence is now nine. Wonder if I'll actually be good at math now. I could have used this back in high school.

After killing several more oversized mole rats, by way of me baiting them and running away while Eddy shot them, we find a locked door. I open it and there's a glowy glow ghoul standing there. I turn a stealth boy on and sneak up behind it with the fire axe. Standing up from crouching, I swing my axe at the back of its head.

Impact.

Unfortunately, my blow seems to have pissed it off rather than doing any damage. The glowing one slowly turns its head to look at me. I think I heard a door creak while it turned its neck.

Uh-oh. This is a boss, isn't it?

It was.

Suffice to say, what happened next was very painful. I won, of course, you wouldn't be hearing me talking to you if I didn't, but I was far from unscathed. He broke one of my poor ribs. I broke his ugly face. With my axe.

Thanks, Hot Blooded.

Eddy helped too, but I was the real MVP for that fight. Gotta admit, I sure as hell didn't feel like a winner when I finally killed him. Glowy bastard. Scratched me a bunch while I was attempting to backpedal. Nothing a stim can't fix.

Then I got high for the first time. Med-X. Because pain and crippled limbs suck.

Well, not high as in the woooaaah maaaan that's some gooood shitttt way, rather I can't feel any pain from my various broken limbs. Also, euphoria.

Maybe a little wooaahh. Just a little.

Then, because fuck it, I drank another hydra. Doc Mitch only said to not abuse it. Which I'm not. For good measure, I put a brace on my torso.

Don't ask me how the braces in doctors bag works, it's like one size fits all. Using it puts me in the same semi-trance state I entered when repairing things.

Found a dog tag on the ghoul. Remembered it's for a quest. From the AWoP NCR ranger in Goodsprings.

Where oh where has the Legion spy gone? That's the quest name.

Without further ado, let's once again drag our sorry ass back to Goodsprings. So I did. I'm using a lot of repetitive statements. Note to self: start using more original statements as to not bore the imaginary audience.

Wouldn't want that, now would we?

Blah blah, went back to Goodsprings, blah blah, talked to the NCR person, got potatoes and stuff as a reward, blah blah did some stuff. You won't believe how boring some of the crap I'm doing is. But hey, something interesting is just about to happen!

Cause we've reached a Vault! An AWoP vault!

Which is where we find ourselves now. Vault 40. Before we got here, I killed three more Powder Gangers at the camp near Jean Sky Diving. Twenty two.

Man, why is everything coming in three's today?

Also crawled through an AWoP sewer pipe next to the camp. Found radscorpions and had to swim through sewer water. Not pleasant. I am so glad I replaced my eyes. It was dark as fuck in there, just a little worse than Goodsprings sewers. Didn't break a rib or a leg this time, just threw dynamite and grenades at the buggers. Eddy can see in the dark or something, because he shot one from twenty feet away in what was for him, absolute darkness.

He does have a Perception of ten. Advanced motion sensors?

Had a particular hairy moment when I turned a corner and a big radscorpion got the jump on me. My eight Strength proved its worth when I swung my crowbar on reflex and knocked the radscorpion's stinger off course from impaling me.

I spent the next five minutes distracting it (running away) while Eddy kept shooting it. It disintegrated into a pile of ash via lucky crit.

At the entrance of the vault, a mantis tries to rush Eddy and me. It gets a crowbar, followed by a laser in the face for its troubles. If Eddy had hands we'd high-five for teamwork right there.

Descending further into the vault after robbing an explosives crate, we come across two more manti. They don't put up much of a fight. One of them nicks me with the sharp thing that mantises all have.

There's a dead Powder Ganger on the floor though, wearing a hockey mask. I take it of his hands, rather, face. He's ugly. Maybe I should put it back on. Nah, I'll keep the mask.

Scavenging anything of value, it comes to my attention of the smell of the vault.

Rust. Not unexpected, given its two hundred years old. Vault 21 is a rare specimen among vaults in being well preserved, given that some horrible prewar testing atrocity didn't occur there.

I get that most of them were social experiments trying to see what was best for the future of humanity but still. Vault-Tec, what convinced you that putting shady crap from the crackpot scientists at Big Mountain into Vault 22 was a good idea?

Like I said before, pre-war people?

Crazy. Most of them worse than the crazy people on the Earth I came from.

Check Your Privilege? I'm white and that is just blatant racism.

Feminism? Can't really speak unbiased for this one since I'm male, but even if I was a female I'm pretty sure I would find it stupid.

Trump making America great again? He- wait, shit, don't talk about that one, wouldn't want to trouble alternate me by starting a political flame war in the reviews that may or may not exist.

Can't dismiss the fact that this might be a self-insert. I've read too many of them to not be genre savvy. Likely, every time I poke fun at the fact this might be a self-insert, the fourth wall cracks a little more.

Not sure if that's classified as breaking the forth wall, or leaning on it. Maybe it's lampshade hanging. I don't feel like I'm talking to an invisible audience hiding behind a computer screen, reading these very words in digital text.

This is most likely just a coping mechanism I'm using to not give into despair at the fact I've been dropped into a world filled with horrible monsters.

Right?

Not sure why I expected an answer. I need a medical checkup.

Also, I'm fixing my Charisma as soon as possible. Raise it to a four or something. I don't care if this is supposed to be some kind of plot point or some "gag", I'm tired of being needlessly unfriendly to everyone. If my previous body's "stats" were classified by the S.P.E.C.I.A.L. system, my Charisma would have at least been a four or five. This one Charisma point is absolutely ridiculous.

At some point during my monologue, Eddy detected some enemies and went charging off after them. I promptly snapped out of my reverie and went chasing after the eyebot to make sure he didn't get himself killed.

Hearing Eddy's music in real life is ten times better than hearing it in the game.

Eddy ran into an absolute swarm of mantises by opening up a door by… poking the wall panel buttons with his mounted laser blaster. So that's how he opens doors. Always wondered how Eddy could do it in the game with no hands.

What happened next was rather unpleasant. Eddy ran- hovered into the thick of a swarm of the buggers inside what looks like a classroom. Got slashed multiple times trying to bludgeon the fuckers to death. My outfit's ripped up.

I'm not that bothered though. I have better armor available anyway.

After stabbing myself in the wrist with a stimpack, I kill the last mantis trying to touch Eddy, and then level up. Eddy freezes mid-hover.

I'll need to make sure I resume my original position when leveling up around people in the future. Can't pull a King Crimson- er, I mean, be facing one way before the level up and facing another when it's over.

Level six. New perks?

New perks.

First up is Heave Ho. Maybe I'll get it if I run out of perks I want in the future. Increased throwing distance for grenades and throwables isn't really necessary as I fight up close and personal.

Second's Bloody Mess. I already said I'll skip this one. I get the feeling I'm going to have a hard enough time cleaning blood off my armor in the future. Next.

Fortune Finder. Let's you find more caps in containers. Seeing as I have a lot of carry-weight capacity due to the 4D, I can just pick up everything and sell it.

Gunslinger. Increases VATS accuracy of pistols. Melee build, unnecessary.

Lead Belly. I'd only want this if I plan on going around guzzling prewar food and irradiated stuff. Which I don't.

Toughness. Adds more armor to my body. This is the one.

 **Toughness (Rank 1) - Now when you stub your toe, you cry less.**

Charming.

Moving on, I open a door into what looks like a storage room. It's filled with food and ammo. Taking everything of interest I move onto down the hall and around the corner, where I find the lavatories.

I open the men's bathroom door. It's caved in.

Oh. Guess we'll have to go in the women's bathroom, don't tell anyone.

Shhhhhhhhhhhh.

I'm sure Eddy won't tell anyone, as everyone sees him as male.

I do, at least. Sadly, there's nothing of real interest inside the women's restroom. Not even a med box.

Aw.

Walking back down the hall past the classroom and storage room, I find a locked door I can't open. There's probably a key to it somewhere. There's always a key nearby. Because video game logic.

After a minute or two of more exploration, I find a staircase labeled for the lower level quarters. Entering the quarters leads me to another cramped hallway, with two doors close to the one I just came through. A tiny mantis comes out of the door on the left.

I kill it by stepping on it. Nothing much in the left room, just a gun mod for a service rifle and some ammo. Right room is a bit more interesting, some locked crates, magazines, and even some medical supplies.

Found another Chinese Stealth Book. I think these things are stalking me. Let's read it.

 _Before attempting to sneak, rotate your joints, such as knees, hips, and ankles. Your ankles are especially important as they tend to "pop" often. Warming up is essential. If you are not warmed up, you can get hurt more easily and you make more noise._

 **Your Sneak has increased by 4.**

Walking out of the room, I and Eddy walk to the right at the end of the corridor. After a couple turns we find ourselves in the "official" medical section of the vault. I take all the supplies and find yet another drug.

Buffout.

Aside from Hydra, Med-X, and that Mentat a few hours ago, I haven't done any others. Steady is virtually useless for me since I don't use guns, and unless you like to snipe with missile launchers, is unnecessary for explosives. Psycho I'm saving for usage when fighting Powder Gangers in the NCRCF Correctional Facility.

Usually I do that place solo, but I guess I have Eddy to help me this time around.

I forgot to mention, using mentats make you feel more perceptive, speeds up your reaction time and stuff. I guess it also makes you more charismatic but if so, I didn't really notice any change to my weird behavioral issues. Still felt aggressive talking to Nash. If I raise my Charisma, maybe it'll go away.

Walking back there's another door I haven't opened. Opening reveals an army of mantises staring at Eddy and me. Eddy plays his battle music and begins to hover forward, but I grab him by placing my hands on his metal chassis and dragging him out of the room.

"Stay with me." Don't want a repeat of the earlier mantis incident.

As much as it might seem I'm having ease fighting these bugs, it isn't the case. It just looks easy due to the fact I don't exactly think "descriptively" when I fight, since all I'm doing is hitting them with a piece of metal. I don't narrate the complexities of most of my fights mid battle such as dodging, healing, and hissing in pain from injury, that sort of stuff, usually resulting in a dumbed-down version of what happened after the fight is over.

I do get hurt during my fights, it's just that most of it can be healed with a stimpack and become as good as new, which makes talking about how the pain feels a null point when it'll just be gone a few seconds later. Stimpacks are just a jab and a push, taking only seconds to administer. The location of where you administer it so far hasn't seemed to matter.

Trust me, this isn't as easy as I'm making it look. I flinched for a second at the sheer size of that mantis at the start of the vault. Mantis almost slashed me good. Just recovered my nerve in time to hit it before it could hit me.

Describing things in heavy detail has never been a strong suit of mine. If some random person asked me to provide a description of New York, I'd just tell them it was a famous U.S. state. Wouldn't mention the architecture, the customs, where the best bar is, none of that. I don't think gaining Hot-Blooded as a trait perk has helped that weak point much.

While I'm thinking of this, Eddy and I have spent several minutes killing everything that has stepped out of that entryway. I've continued throwing dynamite into the room, not caring if I didn't hit anything because I've a fuckton of dynamite. Eddy just shot anything that made it through the explosions.

This is working out pretty well, especially since Eddy's now showing intelligence unlike his in-game counterpart who has a tendency of rushing to his death.

Then, a mantis the size of a cow steps through the door.

Penny- no wait, cap for my thoughts?

IT'S SO BIG OH MY GOD IT'S SO FUCKIN BIG EDDY WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING QUIT SHOOTING IT AND RUN-

Grabbing Eddy from midair and tucking him under my left arm, I fuckin book it, running away from the legendary mantis, who is really big, and really pissed off.

I mean, the Radscorpion in the sewers earlier was big, but it looks nowhere as freaky as the mantis.

Eddy's shooting lasers at it while it's chasing us, tucked in the crook of my arm. The thing behind us sounds like it's getting closer, more pissed off. Running up the stairs to the next level, I unclip a plasma grenade from my waist and toss it over my shoulder. Hearing it smack the oversized mantis in the face I run to the classroom and close the door, hearing the grenade explode in the confined space of the vault.

The next few moments are nothing but silence, except for Eddy making panicked beeping noises under my arm. I let him go.

Is it dead?

Taking the 4D out I materialize the fire axe. Picking it up, I open the door and carefully peer into the hallway. No sign of it. Eddy hovers behind my shoulder at a tilted angle, like he's peering out into the corridor too.

Adorable.

"Eddy, keep your distance." He beeps an affirmative.

Slowly I creep down the corridor that I was just running down a minute ago. I peek around another corner.

The Legendary Mantis is a wreck to say the least. It's dragging itself across the floor by its two sharp things, arms, a helpful part of my brain tells me.

It always pissed me off that people will never tell you the technical term for the arms, instead spouting stuff how the praying mantis eats other bugs efficiently using them.

No shit, Captain Obvious.

Arms. Never would have guessed. Most of the back legs and the two wings are crippled, bent at odd angles. It's bleeding green glowing stuff everywhere.

I don't think that's normal.

Then again, this is Fallout, and that's one big mantis, so who knows? Just kill the damn thing already. Raising my fire axe over my head, I wait for it to crawl closer to me. Damn thing's still chasing me. Gotta admit, that persistence is… **legendary**.

Ba-dum tss.

I'm not sorry. Here it comes.

The thing sticks the two sharp arm things into our stretch of the corridor first. As the mantis pulls it's body with it, it's greeted by the sight of my axe rapidly descending down upon it's head.

Crunch. Must have been the exoskeleton around Marry Mantis's head breaking.

Do you like my nickname for it? This is going to be a habit, I can tell.

Let's see… Mutfucker Mcgee, Fuckboy, Boy Scout, Tinhead, Marry Mantis… I've got a good collection of insulting nicknames already. Let's add more in the future.

Hmm… We need one for the Legion…

Steers and queers?

Nah. Maybe if they were cowboys instead of wannabe romans.

I'll have plenty of time to think of one on the road.

Damn, the axe is stuck.

* * *

 **Writing this chapter got boring near the end. Expect a particularly massive timeskip next chapter. An actual one, unlike this chapter, which was just short summaries. We won't be in Vegas, not even close, but I'm beginning to lose my sanity narrating everything. You will hear a detailed summary of everything I've done in that timeframe, don't worry. Understand, narrating a dungeon can be a bore at times, and both you and I will get bored if I narrate every dungeon I do. My mental dialogue can only go so far at being entertaining.**

 **P.S. All the information for the skill book quips I'm getting online, so don't yell at me if it's wrong.**

 **P.S.S. For anyone wondering the technical term of mantis arms, apparently they are called "raptorial legs". Thank me later.**

 **Profile**

 **Name: Rick**

 **Level: 6**

 **Title: Protector**

 **Karma: Good**

 **Perks**

 **Animal Control (Rank 1)**

 **Bionic Eyes**

 **Built to Destroy**

 **Comprehension**

 **Hot Blooded**

 **Intensive Training (Rank 3)**

 **Toughness (Rank 1)**

 **S.P.E.C.I.A.L**

 **Strength – 8**

 **Perception – 7**

 **Endurance – 8**

 **Charisma – 1**

 **Intelligence – 9**

 **Agility – 5**

 **Luck – 5**

 **Skills**

 **Barter - 7**

 **Energy Weapons - 19**

 **Guns - 19**

 **Explosives - 30**

 **Lockpick - 55**

 **Medicine - 29**

 **Melee Weapons - 50**

 **Repair - 50**

 **Science - 30**

 **Sneak - 34**

 **Speech - 11**

 **Survival - 29**

 **Unarmed - 21**

 **Faction Reputations**

 **Goodsprings: Accepted**

 **Sloan: Neutral**

 **Primm: Neutral**

 **Powder Gangers: Vilified**

 **Brotherhood of Steel (NVC): Fugitive**

 **Edited 2/5/2019.**


	6. Chapter 6

**No, I'm not dead.**

 **So very sorry this took so long to come out. Something came up irl.**

 **jsrd: For all intents and purposes, Rick is an Antihero in this fic. He's not going to pass up an opportunity to acquire the chip safely due to canon knowledge. Let's say he did take the chip. That runs the risk of getting ambushed and shot in the head, and "Courier 6" wouldn't be the "Courier 6" anymore, changing "canon". Besides, Rick wasn't a courier in the first place and you likely need some kind of paperwork and verification to become one. You can't just entrust a client's mail to some random bum you've never heard of who lives out in the wastes.**

 **Guest: Thank you for your… "opinion". If you don't like self inserts, than why the hell are you reading this? I specified this was a self-insert in the first chapter, and the summary as well. Commenting for the sake of not liking it is pointless and a waste of space. Don't like, don't read.**

 **7000+ words.**

Chapter 6 – Recollections of a partly sane man

* * *

 _Clicp_

For anyone wondering what that noise was just now, that's what opening a bottle of flat soda sounds like.

The soda in question is Sunset Sarsaparilla. The taste? A mixture of root beer and licorice.

Not really my cup of tea, but I'm drinking it anyway.

Slurp. Actually glug would fit better.

So, it's been about… uh… a week since I last talked to myself like this. One week of being "sane". Currently, I'm sitting in the Mojave Outpost, nursing a hangover.

Last night when I walked in here, one drunk Sharon Cassidy challenged everyone, including NCR soldiers, to a drinking contest. I don't know what NCR policy on drinking outside Vegas is, but some off-duty NCR soldiers joined in, along with a few caravan people. She tried to get me to join too, while already being partly drunk.

Rick told her to fuck off, but she laughed it off and managed to rope me in somehow. The next part is the muddled mess usually associated with drinking too much, but I remember I almost beat her in the contest. If only I had ten Endurance. Lasted a lot longer than everyone else though.

This morning, I woke up on the floor with a bucket on my head and one of the worst headaches in my life. At least I was still wearing my armor, it could have been worse. I took a mentat and drank five purified waters. Worked a little bit, but I'm still waiting for my headache to fully subsidize before risking my life out in the wastes.

Cass is completely out of it. She's draped over the counter of the bar, snoring loudly. Some NCR soldiers walking around are giving her dirty looks. I could wake her, but this is amusing seeing her annoy everyone else in the vicinity. There are also a couple people passed out in a similar position around the bar.

Just wish she'd quiet down a bit. My ears are still susceptible to loud noises. Eyes are fine, probably because they aren't organic anymore.

Cass herself, is rather pretty in real life. Can see why there's so much "fanart" coughporncough of her on the internet.

It exists, you're just not looking hard enough. Before you get disgusted, I am a male. That is what a large majority of males do. Females too, I don't judge. Besides, you've probably looked at it as well, or will shortly after reading this here thought of mine.

Don't lie. Nobody likes a liar.

But enough talking about the woman like she's a piece of meat. I'd like to think I'm better than that. Though if you think about it, human bodies are technically large pieces of meat…

I blame my hangover for these weird thoughts. Let's move on before this gets even more disturbing. Point is, not my type anyway.

Alright soooo… even though this won't benefit me in any conceivable manner possible, let's do a recap of the three weeks before I ended up at this here bar. It'll give me something to focus on other than my hangover at least.

Let's start with some minor news. Every Powder Ganger between Goodsprings, Sloan, and Primm are all dead.

Whaaaattt, that's not minor? My mistake.

After I finished clearing out Vault 40, I decided to finally get down to the nitty gritty business of exterminating the Powder Gangers in this section of the Mojave. Took me about… four days to kill them all.

First day Eddy and I harassed all the little camps by murdering every convict in them, stealing the mines, looting everything, and killing reinforcements.

The tin can mines they make, powder charges, are disabled by pressing the little silver button on the sensor module portion. Electromagnetic vision helped a lot finding the things hidden in the grass. Only got blown up three times that day. Once by being grazed by a dynamite explosion, once by failing to disarm a powder charge in time (luckily I was wearing metal armor for that one), and once by a guy who tried to go full kamikaze by rushing me holding a lit dynamite. He almost got me. Almost. That day, I realized just how fucking crazy Powder Gangers are.

Lost my hearing temporarily in one ear for the rest of the day. Dynamite is loud, especially when it goes off next to you. Had to stumble back to Goodsprings after the third one almost killed me unlike the first two. Doc Mitchell complained to me, but I was deaf in one ear and easily ignored his mother-henning.

I leveled up that day too. Two new perks were available. Friend of the Night and Hunter.

Friend of the Night was useless in the vanilla game to begin with, and Bionic Eyes makes them utterly pointless. Hunter however, is a perk I might get later on my travels if I run out of perks I want. Damage bonus to wasteland animals.

I picked the second rank for the Toughness perk.

Second day, I went to Primm and raided the Bison Steve Hotel. There were people, namely tourists, in there, but it didn't stop me from pilfering everything. Found a Tales of a Junkytown Jerky Vendor in the room where you get the unique weapon Lucky, a .357 revolver that crits more often. I stole that too.

Here's the quip from the Junkytown book.

 _When attempting to bargain, assume everything is fair game. Don't be intimidated by a title, and be willing to bargain for big bucks. Give a reason for sellers to negotiate, ask open-ended questions, see whether or not the seller is anxious, a good indicator of if they are trying to swindle you. Most importantly, make sure to decide on a fair price and be willing to walk away if they are asking too much and are refusing to budge._

 **Your Barter has increased by 4.**

After that, the town was attacked by escaped convicts that afternoon, about a dozen or so of them. Eddy and I teamed up with Sheriff McBain (that's the dead guy you find in the sheriff house) and killed them all, through several well placed explosions and cracked skulls courtesy of me.

The Butterfly Effect is finally here people. Now, due to my existence, Sheriff McBain won't die in his sleep and Primm be overrun by convicts. He thanked me afterwards for my assistance and Rick was like "yeah whatever" in response.

Went down into the AWoP Primm sewers, and killed a lot of ghouls. Got rad sickness, which was really unpleasant. Headache, nausea, and I felt like I had a fever. Radaway is administered by uncapping a needle that comes with the IV bag, and sticking yourself with it, squeezing the bag. Feels really unpleasant unlike a stimpack. Like I'm pumping crap into my system.

What is Radaway made out of anyway? Knowing Fallout, probably something hideous.

Next, I went up into the hills of Primm, killed a few Bark scorpions, discovered the train station junkyard thing along with an AWoP entrance. I didn't go in, remembered that the dungeon had deathclaws. Maybe later, when I'm in my level thirties.

Then I came across a group of raiders in the prospector cave lounge nearby. Killed all of them easily with surprisingly minimal effort. Came across some reinforced metal armor and a metal helm, actually wearing that right now at the table I'm sitting at.

Found a Tumblr's Today in the lounge after I killed the raider leader via face disfigurement by my crowbar. Here's the excerpt.

 _Use a tension tool that fits the keyway snugly. Always begin with a very light turning tension. Don't start resorting to higher forces until you've spent a few minutes raking the lock with a feather light tuning force. If using a pickgun, start with-_

 **Your Lockpick has increased by 4.**

After that adventure, I returned to Primm and then Goodsprings, selling stuff to their respective merchants. By that point, I had a little over five thousand caps. So I went to Frank's and bought the house.

It was worth the caps. Walking in, the house itself looks pretty standard, a kitchen, some ammo boxes, and a bunk bed. But going into the kitchen you can find a locked safe mounted on the counter with a key in it. Taking the key, you can open a trapdoor next to the bed, and that's where the real treasure is.

But before I did that, I found a Nikola Tesla and You. I honestly had no idea what to expect, given the closest things we've ever had to energy weapons on our Earth aren't like the fallout version at all. I was disappointed when all it talked about was theoretical applications of Tesla's death ray. Trust me, it really wasn't interesting at all to read as it sounds, so I'll just spare you the boredom.

 **Your Energy Weapons has increased by 4.**

The trapdoor reveals a ladder, which leads down into a cozy little bunker. I won't describe the layout in heavy detail, just the necessities.

The first room has several lockers and other containers which you can store things in. It also possesses a reloading bench and a workbench near the ladder where you come in. Further on in, you'll find a desk with a working terminal which talks about The Underground, the main star of the AWoP mod. I'll talk about it another time, when it's relevant.

There are two doors left and right of the terminal. We'll go right first.

The second room mainly serves as the bedroom area. In here, you'll find one king-size bed and a bunkbed. There are at least five wardrobes in the room, so you can hang up all your non-armor clothing. Eddy likes to perch himself on a desk that has a huge plasma globe on it at night. This room is also shared with the "medical" section further in. Here, we find the aforementioned auto-doc which will be so useful in the future. It's not like the one in Big Mountain, instead like the one that Caesar has in his tent. Nearby is a counter where you can store all your medical crap.

If you were to look to the left of the medical station, you would see yet another door. Opening it leads to an armory where I stored most of my weapons I don't need but don't want to sell. I've gained a habit over the past few weeks of collecting mark II weapons or unique items. I also shove weapon mods on the mark II weapons.

A guy needs a hobby. No, killing people doesn't count. Trying to stay sane and relatively moral here.

Going back to the first room and walking through the left door, we find ourselves in the kitchen. The refrigerators have power, and I've been able to secure cold water, a luxury in this place. The RobCo brand water purifier is here too, and I've used it with a great degree of success. There's another door in the kitchen. Walking through that one finds us in the bathroom.

The bathroom has a working toilet, bathtub, sink, and also houses the generator powering this place. Hopefully it won't fail anytime soon. It can probably be fixed, but looking at it I can tell it would be a major pain in the ass to replace several key components.

There's one last room. Opening the door leads to a small cave system. There's a few pieces of furniture like a sofa and comfy chairs. Also a few metal boxes and a trunk, plus a campfire.

Over the course of these past few days I've been picking up things like honey mesquite, barrel cactus fruit, things like that. Also empty soda bottles, tin cans, fission batteries, practically anything of value. I could tell you where I stored everything in the house, but I'm not bored enough to put you through that torture.

I used the bathtub. Felt great. I'd go into detail, but I'm sure most of you could live without knowing the exact details of how filthy I'd gotten since waking up here.

The answer? Very.

After I slept in a real bed for the night, I got back to my little pet project of murdering every Powder Ganger.

Third day, the NCRCF facility sent out a couple of Powder Gangers, about ten, to hunt me down. I think part of them were Joe Cobb's group, because I saw Cobb's ugly mug in there.

They lost. Badly. Four of them got blown up, three killed by Eddy's laser, two introduced to the business end of my crowbar. Joe Cobb was "lucky" enough to survive, and had a very different fate than his compatriots.

When I was in the prospector den the raiders took over, I found a ripper. I'm sure you can guess what I did to him. After he was *ahem* "indisposed", I took his armor. It's hanging up in my armory right now.

You owe me one, Dingo. I think that's the Crimson Caravan guy's name. Definitely.

After that, I lurked near the NCRCF for the rest of the day, waiting for the surviving Powder Gangers to make their move. I think I spooked them bad, because no one came out. I was considering starving them out, but I've never been that patient.

So I, assisted only by Eddy, stormed the facility at midnight. It went pretty well. The guy at the entrance took only two blows to the face before dropping, and it only took three seconds to dig through his pockets to find the key to the door.

What happened next was essentially a bloodbath. Various explosives were thrown, Eddy's laser fired, guns were fired, my crowbar swung, people died. I don't remember how many convicts were in the facility only that I killed them all, each with a number added to my count.

I also took the powder charge schematic. I probably wouldn't use it, given that satchel charges were the superior mine and much more cheap to make, but it was something. When morning came, I stumbled out of the administration office, metal armor covered in blood. I had several bones broken (bastard with the brass knuckles packs a mean punch) and I felt like shit from all the chems I took.

And with not a single feeling of regret.

Unfortunately, Meyers perished that night as well. Before you go pointing fingers, I didn't **technically** kill him. What happened was that when I and Eddy stepped into the reception building, one of the Gangers had the bright idea to pull out a dynamite stick.

Eddy's laser hit the dynamite before the guy could throw it. Meyers was sitting next to the Ganger. Guy goes boom, Meyers goes boom.

Sorry, Meyers.

I leveled up after falling on my ass in exhaustion in the courtyard. I ignored the level up menu for a few minutes, contemplating what I'd just done. After a while, I came to the conclusion that I didn't care. They had it coming anyway. If I didn't do it, the Courier or someone else would have eventually.

Except Meyers. I'd say sorry, but it wouldn't make you come back, so I'll save my breath.

Ah, I should probably tell you about the drugs before I move onto the new perks available.

Psycho makes you super-aggressive. From a medical standpoint, I'd imagine it makes your brain produce excessive amounts of testosterone in a short time. Maybe adrenalin as well.

Buffout makes you feel invincible, and can take on the world. Nuff' said.

But new perks. I actually leveled up between day one and two of fighting the Powder Gangers, but I held off talking about it now so we can get it all done in one nicely condensed info dump.

The first of the new perks was Commando. Useless for me, as it's a rifle version of Gunslinger and I don't have VATS because no pip-boy.

Iron Handshake. Project Nevada perk, allows you to install more cybernetic implants in your arms. After I get a solid stack of perks and find enough implants, I'll get this perk.

Quick Draw. This perk sounds really good, but it's actually pointless. If you're going into a dangerous area you know has enemies, why haven't you already drawn your weapon?

Scrounger. Let's you find more ammo. Useless for me as finding explosive ammo is fairly uncommon and I can deal with buying it from the store like everyone else.

Sneering Imperialist. I might get this perk later, maybe when I get to the Fiends. Don't especially need it though. Can kill raiders on my own fine enough. Plus I'm worried it might alter my mind and make me be an asshole to Zion's tribals.

Strong Back. If I didn't have a 4D, this perk would have been essential. I might get it, just not anytime soon.

Stonewall and Super Slam. Essential perks if you're making a melee build. Stonewall gives you extra defense against melee and unarmed attacks and prevents you from being knocked down. Super Slam gives a chance for your melee and unarmed attacks to knock your opponents down.

I picked Stonewall earlier, picked up Lord Death and Day Tripper (I did a bunch of drugs during the Primm fight) and lastly picked Super Slam.

Here are the perk descriptions.

 **Stonewall- You have harnessed the power of bad country music.**

I listen to rock and metal, so I have no idea what it's referencing.

 **Lord Death- Congratulations, you've ended the life of 200 living beings for your own personal gain. Are you proud of yourself?**

Fuck off.

 **Day Tripper- You can now be piss drunk for even longer. Hooray.**

Oh boy, I can't wait.

 **Super Slam- COME ON AND SLAM IF YOU WANNA JAM-**

I should have known the description would be something from that terrible movie.

"Hey!" said someone at Warner Bros, "Let's make a movie about Looney Tunes and Michael Jordan, it'll be great! The kiddies will love it!"

Space Jam is one of those movies that fall into the "so bad it's good" category. Ah, the nostalgia of watching it back when I was in middle school. Back then, I thought it was a great movie.

Now, I'd just laugh on and on at how stupid it was.

After trudging back to my new home in Goodsprings, I took a well-deserved bath. Also dumped a load of Abraxo cleaner into the water when I was done and washed the blood off my new reinforced metal armor. I found a metal helm alongside the armor when I got it.

And unlike the armor I started out with, it is bulletproof. Thank God.

The fourth day, I went and cleared out the two gecko dungeons near Goodsprings. The first was the one in Devil's Gullet, and was infested by Golden Geckoes. The second is located in the hills of Goodsprings in a place called Firetooth Caverns, filled with Fire Geckoes. Never saw that coming.

I killed all the Geckos with my fireaxe, strategic explosions, and Eddy's help. There was also usage of chems when necessary. I don't plan on using chems for every fight due to concerns of overdose, or it changing my body's chemistry to make me reliant on chems to the point that a Fixer or auto-doc is useless.

I do not want to walk all the way to the other end of America to find that Vault that has the addiction curing machine in the Commonwealth. I'm in Nevada for god's sake.

Holy shit. Just realized I'm not bound by the limits of a game anymore. I could go wherever I want. Travel all the way to the Commonwealth just to bitchslap Shawn for his shitty reason for replacing people with synths.

"You wouldn't understand." Quality writing as always, Bethesda. And people wonder why Fallout New Vegas had a better storyline coughObsidiancough.

Maybe after I complete FNV's main story quest.

It's starting to feel weird classifying this as a game. Hmm. My genre savvy sense is tingling.

Oh noes, I'm beginning to turn from a self-insert into an OC with future knowledge.

…

I wonder how badly I damaged the forth wall with that line.

But back to my usage of the fireaxe. I've gotten better with it over the past few days and it's surprisingly effective against creatures bigger than dogs. I've shelved the crowbar for now, letting it sit in my 4D. Super Slam was probably the most useful perk ever when fighting these things. My swings would occasionally knock them over when they hit, sending them tumbling.

Killing the geckoes up close and personal was a bit daunting at first if I was honest. Especially the fire ones, as the adults were mostly taller than me. I was half expecting nothing to happen when I hit them with the axe, but was pleasantly surprised when it tore through flesh like nothing.

I'm still not properly spec'd for the fire axe but I find as I raise my melee weapons skill, it gets easier to wield. Still sucks when I miss a swing and inertia grabs hold of me.

Skinning the bodies was a rather unpleasant task, and I messed up the first few times, but I've gotten better at it. I remember you can upgrade leather and metal armor with a high survival skin and tanned gecko leather at a campire. Which reminds me, to make healing powder all you need is Xander root and Broc flowers plus a knife, cut them up and stuff em in a bag and presto, healing powder.

In the Devil's Gullet dungeon, I leveled up once more. Three new perks to choose from.

Finesse. A must have for any build that has uses critical hits. Gives you five extra points of Luck in combat and is an absolute killer when paired with Better Criticals.

Here and Now. Utterly fucking useless. Fallout New Vegas is, or was, a game where you can hit max level well before you finish exploring everything. Only useful if you absolutely need skill points or something right away.

Night Person. Gives you two Intelligence and Perception at night. To be honest, it's pretty useless for me since I have Eddy, whose perk will grant me super perception when it decides to work. I'm planning to max my Intelligence anyway.

The obvious choice is Finesse.

 **Finesse- Holding your gun sideways does not increase your accuracy. Stop trying to look cool, you moron.**

Ah, it's mocking the perk icon.

When I finished killing all the Gecko bosses, Smokey, Firetooth, and… I don't remember the last one, I went to Frank and told him I killed them all. He then gave me a quest to kill a radscorpion called Big Bertha in an abandoned NCR bunker.

Which brought us to our next location: Mojave Outpost. Now don't get excited yet, I'm not done telling my story. The trek to the outpost on the fifth day was extremely boring, broken only by several locations I visited.

The Mojave Wasteland is slightly bigger and larger in real life than it was in game, though it just might be because the whole "shit, this is real life now" thing. Took me an hour to walk from Primm to the area near the outpost. Although it was relieving when I finally reached something interesting after murdering some raiders…

The station with a green fuck you written on the doors. Friendly as could be. After I killed all the inhabitants, I raided the place, as is customary for when this still was a game. Notable finds include a variety of ammo, two hydra, and a Guns and Bullets.

 _Never run a brush in the barrel first when cleaning. This will damage the firearm. The brush will pick up dirt, moisture or powder residue and deposit it into the chamber or receiver. Never dip a brush in solvent. The solvent at the brush core will collect dirt and drop it into the receiver and chamber._

 **Your Guns have increased by 4.**

Firearm maintenance? Wouldn't that fit better in a Repair skill book?

Thirty minutes later Eddy and I reached that old gas station with radscorpions outside. Everything's where it was in the game except mayor fatass's note. We might just reach Nipton before it gets Legion'd.

Another skill book found, I'm really patting myself on the back for making the decision to take Comprehension.

Pugilism Illustrated.

 _Turn your whole body into the punch. If your feet are slow (most people have slow feet at first) you will find that punching a little slower actually hits harder than punching faster. So in other words, punch as fast as your body can turn so you won't sacrifice power. Again, use your whole body instead of the arms to punch._

 **Your Unarmed has increased by 4.**

Next we trek all the way up the hill, undisturbed except for the occasional radscorpion. Eddy's laser usually kills them before they even get close to us, but one swing of my axe is enough to finish one off.

I need to find a rag or something to clean radscorpion guts off it though. Threw away the old rag, got too nasty.

After I reached Mojave Outpost, I traded with some people, bought some things. Then I headed off to the abandoned bunker a little ways away. Long story short, I never knew how deceptively easy it was to knock over giant radscorpions with a fire axe. I have more radscorpion poison sacs than I know what to do with now.

Note to any future self-inserters out there: Unless you're a big strong boy like me, don't attack a radscorpion the size of a car with a normal fire axe. It probably won't end well for you.

Bertha was one big motherfucker, about the size of a minivan at least. Course, nothing explosives can't take care of. I reported her death to Frankie and got a key to the Underground as payment. I'll explain what the Underground is to you briefly, but we're not going down there till we have a high enough level to transverse it without getting wrecked by all the horrible things that live there.

Basic summary? Massive cave system under the whole Mojave. Rich people funded it and hid there when the bombs dropped. Most of it's been overrun by things such as Lakelurks and other horrors of the wastes. There's a community of friendlies living down there somewhere, but I've only been there once in game, and I didn't really explore that area much.

What happened after that was that I took two days off to rest and relax. Which leads us to where we are now, the Mojave outpost. The eighth day. To be honest, the only reason I'm here is because I'm bored. Rick's social mind vehemently protests hanging out with the settlers of Goodsprings and I had to take another mentant even before I approached the outpost itself.

I'll eventually fix my Charisma, but it's not a high priority because I mostly adventure by myself sans Eddy. What'll probably happen is I'll shove two Intensive Training points into it, then get the Charisma implant from the New Vegas Clinic.

Alright, story time's over. We are now in the present.

Hang on.

…

Ah shit, I missed something. Got two new perks while I was in that bunker.

 **Bug Stomper (Rank 2)- You're a bully to insects. Be proud.**

What's weird is that I don't remember getting the first rank of Bug Stomper. I probably got it in Vault 40 and just didn't see the notification or something.

 **Melee Hacker (Rank 1)- You're good at mashing your keyboard with your fingers.**

What- oh I get it.

Ahem.

Now we are in the present.

I realize I've been talking about all this shit I'm finding, so for the hell of it, let's go over what's currently in the pile of stuff I use. Right now, I'm wearing a full set of metal reinforced armor, helmet included as I mentioned earlier. My combat helmet and merc suit broke ages ago.

Now, weapons. My primary is my fire axe. I've still got my crowbar, it's sitting in the 4D just in case. Swapped out the mercenary grenade rifle for a fancy Grenade rifle Mark II I found somewhere. It fires two shots before you have to reload. Both it and the fire axe are currently sitting on my back right now, which it seems all metal armor is magnetized to a degree.

I also have a bunch of grenades, both frag and plasma clipped at my waist. Can't reach for my remote in the middle of a firefight and risk it getting damaged.

The rest of the weapon crap sitting in my inventory is waiting to be sold to someone who actually has caps, while stuff like the ripper is used for… other things than combat.

All you imaginary lawful good's who are protesting in the back of my mind, save your breath on that speech you're preparing. I could care less about your self-righteous crap. Not like I'm going to make a habit of it.

Placing my hands on the bar in a way that supports my body weight, I push myself up from the bar stool. Eddy, who's perched himself on a wooden box nearby, chirps and "wakes up." We leave the outpost without much fanfare, just a couple NCR soldiers who glanced at me.

Today, ladies and gents, we are going to explore the Reinmann Bunker. It's near Goodsprings Sewer and the door that leads to the Underground. For those who have never played FNV with AWoP, this is near the cazadores. Luckily it's not that close to the buggers, so it's unlikely we'll run into them. Though if we do, I have plenty of antivenom to spare.

This is the place that has the redoubts I talked a few days ago. Speaking in game terms, Reinmann Bunker is essentially an extended dungeon, with the redoubts coming out at various points around the Mojave. We already saw one of the exits at Hidden Valley.

 _But Rick, you still haven't told us what a redoubt is!_ -I hear you whining in the background.

I'm getting to it, goddamn.

A redoubt, in AWoP terms, is basically an area that you reach via teleporter. There's a central hub of the things sitting deeper in Reinmann Bunker. As for what the teleporters actually look like…

You know those Protectron cylinders you find in Helios? Basically that with a generic control panel in the wall, minus the force field.

There was some kinda mod lore around that area as well. Some secret group of people, probably the Illuminati, were using it to scavenge for things. I didn't really pay much attention to it at the time.

But getting back on topic, if real life FNV decides to give me the middle finger and not let me fast travel when I get a pip boy, I could use some of these exits to get around quickly in the Mojave Wasteland.

SURPRISE KILL COUNT! NINETY SIX!

I bet one of you assholes was hoping I'd forget to list the number so you could rib alternate me about it. To those people, fuck you.

On a much more serious note…

Ninety six. Damn.

Given my apathy and complete lack of regret for killing almost one hundred people, suffice to say it's definitely confirmed there is something very wrong with me.

Good thing I'm self-aware as hell, so I'll likely avoid falling into the pitfall of insanity and become a murderhobo psychopath who kills anything that moves for no good reason.

Probably.

…

…Hopefully.

Ookay there's just one more thing I promise… oh yah, news on the Courier.

Haven't seen hide nor hair of this "Hannah". I've visited the old man almost daily so I'd like to think I would have noticed someone lying on the patient bed. The game never was clear on how many weeks between the Ulysses-Nash event and the Courier picking up the package event took place. Could be a week or two, or a month until show time. I'm planning on hitting the road and migrating to Novac soon. I've kinda shot myself in the foot with the whole message thing and I'm not eager at having to explain it to the Courier.

Besides my crap Charisma will likely just make things worse.

I'll give it one more day, just in case it happens. If Benny shows up I have no issues with getting on the Great Khans shit list for murdering members of their tribe and their backstabbing client. The chip is more important than the lives of a smooth talker and a couple thugs.

That's everything important addressed. Only thing left to do is to reach the Bunker now.

…

…

…

It's hot.

…

I'm not even halfway there yet.

…

Arrrggghhhh.

* * *

After three hours of speed walking from Mojave Outpost back to Goodsprings under that godawful sun, I finally reach Reinmann Cave.

Ugh. I stink.

Thinking about it now, a large majority of people in the fallout-verse probably don't smell that great either, seeing as most of us live out in a powerless wasteland.

Well, not here at least. Hoover Dam is main power supplier around here. Everything else is powered by old generators and fission batteries. I need to fix Helios at some point, regardless of the Courier's intentions towards the Mojave. Need to make sure ARCHIMEDES II can't ever be activated.

The entrance to the cave is covered with vines sprawling out of the mouth. I don't remember seeing any Vault 22 abominations in there when this was a game, so it must be entirely natural.

I'd say something really witty here, but my plant puns are lacking so I'll just leaf the matter alone for now.

Inside well… it's a cave. Wet, dark, and dank.

No, there isn't abundance of Mountain Dew and Doritos in here. Dank as in damp, musty, and cold. How dank got to be associated with the term mlg is beyond me.

How do you do fellow kids? Fellow memers? Do I sound like an old man trying to be hip to you?

But anyway, if you go further down the inside of Reinmann Bunker looks to be used as a dumping ground for Goodsprings along with prewar crap. Rusted out robots, broken terminals, all overgrown with natural plant life. And rats. Rats about the size of a housecat and bigger.

Unfriendly, too. I think I was swinging my axe at one point continuously for five minutes. Little bastards. They just kept coming and coming. Thankfully my "level" and "stats" were at a point I could kill them all easily.

I must have killed thirty to forty of them. Seriously, the cave was absolutely infested with them. In fact, I killed so many that Animal Control leveled up in rank. Sadly no new descriptions about PETA hating my guts.

Not much else to say. I ran around looting everything of value until I came across the lakelurk.

And man, it is one ugly motherpucker. Yes, I spelled that wrong intentionally.

The first thing that grabs your attention about a lakelurk besides its size is the color of the skin. Now I don't know about you, but where I come from, something that is seven feet tall and colored ocean blue isn't typically considered normal for the local wildlife.

Naturally that makes it stick out like a sore thumb, especially in a cave filled with radioactive glowing green mushrooms.

Did I say it was ugly before? Let me restate my observation.

It's **very** ugly.

The eyes are an orangish red, and its nose has its nostrils turned upwards. There's also a huge scar running diagonally across its face, even leading to the frill things surrounding its neck.

If I remember correctly, this particular lakelurk is called "Scar". How appropriate.

Scar takes offense at my very existence and begins growling at me. A normal person might have ran away, but I think we all know by now that I've got a couple screws loose.

So, hefting my axe into a swinging position, I charge it. Eddy's just now noticed it and the speakers mounted on his chassis have crackled to life, playing the first few notes of his battle music. Scar leans his upper body backwards, splaying his arms outwards horizontally making a droopy T.

Ah fuck, he's gonna use that weird echolocation death ray that all lakelurks have.

The lakelurk opens his mouth and time seems to slow as an orb of blue manifests in his mouth. It expands rapidly, shooting outwards making the "bew" noise as it flies towards me.

I have the strangest feeling it's not a good idea to let that thing hit me.

So to avoid the projectile, my next stride has me bending my extended leg, putting me in awkward crouch as the energy thing flies over my head and hits the wall behind me. From the sound it made, probably broke off a sizeable chunk of the cave wall. Eddy hasn't fired his laser yet for some reason, probably doesn't have a clear shot or some bullshit reason like that. I get up and stare at Scar.

The lakelurk is taller than me by at least two feet. I have to look upwards at it to even see its eyes. At this point, we're probably five feet away from each other.

Derplurk seems to be in a state of shock if I take its opened mouth into account. Granted, I can't really read its facial expressions with a hundred percent accuracy. Probably isn't used to things outright dodging its projectiles, but whatever.

Scar makes a snorting noise followed by a snarl. Straightening his stature, he leans himself forward, most likely about to charge. Normally, I wouldn't take something that big on in an outright slugfest, but Stonewall will prevent me from being bowled over, and Super Slam speaks for itself.

For those of you wondering how I was taking on radscorpions with ease earlier, I was just flipping the scorpions for the most part, and attacking their weak point for massive damage. Completely different from what I'm about to do here.

If we were to take the game into account, while a lakelurk's melee prowess is nothing to scoff at, a baby deathclaw is much more dangerous than a full grown lakelurk in the melee department. I've never fought a deathclaw, but theoretically, this should be easy.

…

Imma bout to get my ass whooped, aren't I?

* * *

 **Bethesda's E3 stuff was basically, "We're** **still** **milking the shit out of Skyrim and bringing back paid mods". Looking at it now, Bethesda has become a huge disappointment over the years. They need to focus on making other games and get their dicks out of Skyrim's ass. It's been roughly six years since Skyrim was released, and they still want to squeeze more money for it out of their consumers. It's not like they need it either.**

 **How the mighty have fallen. As for practically everyone's opinion on the Creation Club (PAID MODS) itself…**

 **To quote the famous words of some guy on YouTube;**

" **Hey Bethesda here's another dick you can suck, let me mark it on your map!"**

 **When will the gaming industry learn that paid mods are a big no-no?**

 **P.S. Did you know FNV was a rushed game? That's right, Obsidian planned on adding a whole bunch of other stuff to the game. If you look carefully, you can find traces of Cut Content all throughout the Mojave. Look it up if you don't believe me. Obsidian even was planning to make it so you were able to walk around after the Battle of Hoover Dam, kind of like Fallout 3's Broken Steel. But Bethesda rushed them for time constraints and we were presented with a game that could have been so much more. FNV is still great, but imagine how better it could have been had it been delayed a year or two for Obsidian to finish implementing all that cut content?**

 **Alright, enough shitting on Bethesda, let's move the topic to something relevant.**

 **This chapter was meant to be much, much, longer, but I haven't updated in a month so some folks might think I've died or something. I'll just give it almost-finished as a way of reassuring you folks I haven't abandoned this. Next chapter will finish up Reinmann Bunker and might dip into what was originally planned to be the next chapter a little.**

 **This chapter was going to be called "Recaps and Redoubts", but yeah…**

 **Originally, I was going to finish Reinmann Bunker in this chapter but it's since it's been moved, here's what'll probably happen. Next chapter we "complete" Reinmann Bunker, talk about what a pre-Legion Nipton looks like, and then** **might** **end up time skipping to Novac. I'm unsure how many words Reinmann Bunker will take up, so it might be combined with the rest of the originally planned Novac chapter or it (Novac Chapter) could go on to be Chapter 8. The Novac area was supposed to get a chapter all to itself, so I'm not sure what I'll do for that. Might get split up into parts like this chapter.**

 **I might just say fuck it and combine the two chapters together to form chapter 7 "possibly" making it 10000+ words. No promises on how long it will take for me to accomplish that feat should I choose that option.**

 **Not sure how it'll all work out, but considering all my chapters have passed the 5000+ word mark so far (not counting the first chapter), I'm sure you guys will be satisfied with whatever happens. Now, about the whole, "Is Rick going to meet the Courier in Goodsprings?" thing that some of you probably have a burning desire in your heart to know, I might as well tell you now b/c it's relatively unimportant.**

 **I did consider letting Rick meet the Courier at Goodsprings and begin traveling with her, but here's a few reasons why I'm choosing not to.**

 **-Rick will not part with Eddy voluntary, out of fear he will go insane if left alone to his own devices and by himself. Feels genuine companionship with the eyebot, despite speaking little to Eddy. He will stay with Eddy as long as the robot is still functioning. As mentioned earlier and last chapter, he wrote a note that gave a huge clue about who shot her and the note also came with a threat. If the Courier asks who wrote the letter, Nash can tell the Courier that they have their own personal eyebot.**

 **ED-E is the only** **functional** **eyebot in the Mojave. (Divide eyebots don't count.)**

 **As a result, if Rick travels with the Courier, he will likely have to lie repeatedly about Benny and the other factions without giving knowledge that he should not have. The consequences should the lie's cover be blown would be disastrous to say the least. Rick has no intention of sharing the full extent of his knowledge of the future for fear that it will change "canon".**

 **-Due to the previous host being a misanthrope, there is a distinct separation of how Rick wants to act around people, and what actually happens. Even if he were to raise his Charisma, his behavioral issues would likely persist, albeit be much more manageable. Despite his best efforts, he will likely feel extremely hostile and be easily irritated at the Courier until he can fix his Charisma.**

 **-I'd like to give Rick a reputation before the Courier comes across him. Instead of being some random stranger nobody, make Rick become a widely known figure that is both respected… and feared.**

 **There was a profile here, but the whole "I'm releasing this early" thing has made it invalid. Whoops.**

 **2/5/2019: Holy shit, I had completely forgot about the paid mods thing. Another reason to hate Bethesda, thanks past self!**

 **Edited 2/5/2019.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Well, I survived Irma. Along with my house. Was a pleasant surprise to come home after hiding away in the mountains for a few days to find my house unmolested by fallen trees. The power was even on. I think Mother Nature reads this fanfic…**

 **Oh, and thanks for all the support you guys threw my way. Really warms the heart.**

…

 **Don't give me that look, I was being sincere.**

… **What do you mean my tone is sarcastic? It isn't, I swear!**

 **After several months in development, Chapter 7 is finally here. Hopefully, it will have been worth the weight.**

 **Heavy.**

 **Rude Guest- Nice name, and about stuff like that… Perhaps, it depends on what it is. This fic is intended to stay firmly in New Vegas and the DLC areas, so no travelling across the US till we finish our business in the Mojave. I was planning on throwing some cut content from FNV into this fic anyway, plus adding a couple original ideas of my own.**

 **Guest- Ah yes, Rick is primarily a melee build, a rarity in both game and (fallout) fanfiction. Not dissing fellow fanfiction writers, but guns and energy weapons get quite stale after a while. The main reason I think it gets overlooked so much is that (human) melee enemies are basically cannon fodder if you're a high leveled ranged build. I assure you, melee builds are much more effective with a player behind the wheel. Also, not having to worry about ammo conservation is nice, especially on higher difficulties.**

 **hyperdragon97- Glad to see you're enjoying it. Honestly, I'm surprised that there aren't more Fallout SI's. I've seen a couple on SpaceBattles and this site, but usually they're dead or put on hiatus. Truly a shame.**

 **Whyoshock- I haven't a clue what you just said. I'll just assume you expressed a heartfelt desire that this fanfic would become longer. In that case, rejoice, for your wish is granted.**

 **Unfortunately due to that wonderful thing known as violence, I've had to bump this up to an M rating because of a certain scene in this chapter. For all those squeamish about horrific injuries or those with weak stomachs, gore warning. This is the only time I'll ever warn about this since it's the first time.**

 **This fic will get much more violent in the future.**

 **8000+ words.**

Chapter 7 – I'm redoubting my choices in life

* * *

Scar charges forward with his arm twisting back, intending to swing it into me and make those sharp claws tear at my armor. Of course, Eddy decides this is the perfect time to ruin the lakelurk's day and shoots it in the face.

I'm beginning to think Eddy's companion perk isn't "Enhanced Sensors", rather "Not in the face!" or something like that. Because he has a real talent for getting a bullseye on that particular part of the bod-

Er, focus.

The shot unbalances Scar, sending him stumbling and trying to prevent himself from falling over. Because I'm not a very nice person, I take the opening and introduce my axe to its right shoulder blade. The axe sinks in with a meaty squelch, causing Scar to let out a pained snarl in response.

The lakelurk sticks a leg backwards, preventing itself from falling over. He then raises his other arm and slams the appendage, clawed hand included into the area of my chest where my left lung would be located. The metal armor holds, stopping those razor sharp claws from digging into my tender flesh, though it doesn't stop me from feeling the force behind that blow.

 _Oof._

Wheezing slightly, I feel some wind in my lungs get knocked out through my mouth though it isn't enough to seriously debilitate me. Stonewall is working as intended. I jiggle my axe, trying to ease it out of the ocean blue flesh. It stubbornly doesn't budge.

Damn, it's stuck. For now I'll just have to improvise.

Letting go of the fire axe I raise my fists, taking a boxing stance. I've been putting points into Unarmed these past few levels as some perks you can get for the unarmed skill cross over into melee weapons. Channeling my inner Little Mac, I wind up and deliver a nice right hook into Scar's face, hitting his nose and upper lip.

Now in game, punching with just your fists would normally do very little damage, but since this is real life…

My fists are currently encased in a couple centimeters of solid steel. I just hit Scar in the face with metal propelled by force.

Ouchies.

Scar takes the blow rather well, unsurprising since he's a seven foot mutant…

Mutant…

Uh… play some jeopardy music, I'm thinking. I duck under a swipe from Scar.

…got it.

Mutant snapping turtle is what I think the lakelurks are supposed to be. Not sure how it's a snapping turtle with those human looking lips. Radiation is weird.

Taking my left fist, I swing once more, hitting part of the cheek and the left frill. Scar doesn't really react to it. He takes another swipe at me, and I barely manage to duck under the carelessly swung limb. Another one of Eddy's lasers scores a hit, singeing the right part of his neck frill. Scar snarls in response.

I think it pissed him off more than anything. Okay, a new plan of action is needed. Backing up a couple feet from the lakelurk, I let Eddy spam his laser at Scar unabated to cover my retreat. I then run at the mutant, slamming my spikey shoulder pauldron into his stomach.

If I was in my old body, I most certainly could not do this. But since I'm now in the body of a rather large full grown man, it's no biggie.

Scar falls over, with me following his descent. The lakelurk hits the ground on his back with myself still attached to his chest. I manage to get my bearings fairly quickly and pull my shoulder out of Scar's chest with a _shlunk_ noise. After punching him in the face once more, I get a nice firm grip on the handle of my axe, proceeding to rip it out of Scar's shoulder blade. The fire axe comes out with a trail of blood following it, along with a complementary scream from Scar.

Poor baby, I hope it didn't miss me. The axe, not Scar.

Axe in hand, I roll myself off the lakelurk and scramble to my feet. Scar's having a harder time at achieving this due to Eddy spamming lasers at him. There are various burnt splotches in his once pristine blue skin now. Scar certainly doesn't sound happy.

To be honest, I wouldn't either. Still, this fight has gone on long enough. Time to end it. Ideally, I'd like to kill it by embedding my axe into its neck, but that stupid frill is going to get into the way.

Unfortunately it looks like a messier approach is needed. Don't look kiddies.

Walking carefully around the flailing body of Scar, I position myself in front of his head. Scar is still attempting to get up, but he's preoccupied shielding his face with his left hand from Eddy. My axe appears to have rendered his right arm completely useless. Must have severed a few important nerves on impact earlier.

Internally, I'm grimacing at what I'm about to do next. Taking my axe, which is currently held in my right hand, I two-hand it and raise it over my head. Then with all my might, as if I were chopping a log of wood, I swing it down at Scar's face.

I watch as it seemingly slowly descends upon the mutant turtle's face, when realistically it's less than a second. The axe makes contact with his cheek, then sinks in.

 _ **Thud.**_

There is no meaty squelch as the axe enters Scar's face, just the muted sound of the impact. I can see it, the pain making itself known in Scar's eye. The traces of fear, of how it will die.

It's surprisingly human like.

Scar let's out a bloodcurdling scream, something more animalistic than human (not that it was ever human in the first place, but eh, it's the thought that counts). His body is flailing rapidly, claws scratching at the stone, trying ever so desperately to get up, to run away, to **escape** the pain.

Alas, its wants will go unanswered, as the world is cruel.

 _You know, I'm getting rather philosophical all of a sudden. Not exactly the worst pastime that could be happening right now, but rather concerning nonetheless. Least I'm not enjoying this._

My foot slams into its undamaged shoulder blade, the left arm attached attempting to raise the panicking body attached to it from the ground. It twitches, losing its grip and destroying any chance of escape it might have had before. I use my position to remove the axe from Scar's face. It comes out with a sticky sounding squelch. Backing up and raising it over my head once more, I swing the unforgiving piece of bloodied metal down.

 _ **Thud.**_

This strike is not as "clean" as the last one, the axe having sunk into the left eye and part of the forehead. Scar lets out another scream, this one not as loud at the last one, but still ear piercingly loud. I notice the shoulder wound from earlier.

Red blood runs out of the opened crevice in the flesh, like a river's stream. It covers the cave floor, the liquid somehow managing to reflect the glow of the nearby unnatural mushrooms.

Eddy hovers silently, having stopped firing after my first swing. Perhaps there is something intelligent in there after all, watching, **appraising** the situation.

 _There's that philosophical speech-talk again. Curious._

I remove the axe from the lakelurk's face once more. In the axe's sudden absence, eye juices and blood have mixed together, forming an orange and bloody soup. Blood pours out of the exposed forehead, a dark red gash frothing blood out at an alarming rate.

Scar's screams have lessened in volume to loud gurgles.

I numbly raise my axe for the last time, hoping that he will just die already.

 _The longer you live, the more you will suffer._

The cruel metal sings, descending like the grim reaper upon the dying.

 _ **Thud.**_

The blade having sunk deep into the entirety of the frontal lobe, reaching the brain, pauses the lakelurks screams. His body continues to jerk and fidget, likely the nervous system going haywire at the rapidly dying brain with a piece of metal shoved in the delicate biological structure.

Satisfied that the lakelurk likely won't pose a threat ever again to my health, I pull the axe out of the skull with some difficulty.

I press my hand against my forehead, slicking some of my hair back. That was, without a doubt, the most brutal kill I've done so far.

What disturbs me the most is that I felt more wrongness at killing the lakelurk than I did my fellow humans. Granted, I didn't exactly shove an axe in Powder Ganger's foreheads, it was mostly blunt trauma, but it doesn't change the fact I felt more uncomfortable at killing a mutant than a member of my own species.

Is this Rick's influence? Is it a subconscious hatred of the human race, of how they destroy everything around them, bicker and kill over the most dumbest of things, that allows me to feel more empathy for a completely different species than my own race?

I don't know. And that scares me, because I don't feel regret for killing humans. Sure, I know it's bad, but what happens if I forget? Stop caring? If I stop differentiating between who needs to die and who doesn't?

What's to stop me from turning into a monster? The very person who I'm afraid of the Courier being, someone who only looks out for themselves and is willing to drag the entire Mojave down with them to get what they want?

You know, I'm reminded of a saying…

 _He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you._

I audibly sigh.

For now, there is very little I can do, except stick to a strict moral code and never break the rules. I'll need to review every action I take, to make sure I'm in no way shape or form breaking them.

It's the only way I have of keeping myself in check.

Haahh… I'm such a downer. At least I'm realizing potential pitfalls. And I got all that shit for reading too many cliché hero-becomes-the-villain stories in the past. Thanks to that, I've seen so many examples of those who've fallen from grace and how it happened.

Now, let's hope that knowledge will help me avoid suffering a similar fate…

Yes, let's hope…

Hmm? Oh, I leveled up. Six new perks available.

Fight the Power. Grants a damage bonus against NCR, BOS, and Legion. Anti-Government version of Sneering Imperialist. Seeing as I'm not planning to be on any of those sides, I might get it. Maybe.

Alertness. Grants a bonus to perception and agility when outside. Unnecessary because of my fighting style and Eddy. More important perks to get.

Fast Metabolism. Gives a health bonus whenever I use stimpacks. Will probably get at some point.

Heavyweight. Any weapon heavier than ten pounds has its weight cut in half. This I'll likely get later when I hit my level thirty and have access to "insurance" weapons like fatman launchers and likewise.

Hobbler. Accuracy of hitting legs in VATS is increased. Once again, a useless perk for me.

Life Giver. Gives me thirty extra hit points. Doesn't seem like much, but more health is always useful.

I pick Life Giver.

 **Life Giver- Vault Boy Jesus has blessed you with thirty extra hit points. Use them wisely.**

Thanks budget Jesus.

As much as I'd like to sit down and think about this, there's a dungeon that needs clearing and I… I can think about this later. Perhaps on the road. Being distracted in a dangerous area is asking for trouble.

Like a broken record, I sigh once more. Walking away from Scar's dying body I walk to the area he was guarding, remembering its importance.

Let's see, it's likely this poor dead chap lying by a pair of rusty dumpsters. Poor bugger. Don't see that many maggots crawling in his skin, so it couldn't have been that long ago he got killed. Or is it kilt? No, that's something Scottish people wear.

This must be one of those Illuminati people I mentioned earlier. Let's see… he should have a keycard… Hang on, just desecrating his body and rummaging around in his belongings… no sense in letting it rot there with him…

After several seconds of searching, I pull out a flat, grey rectangular object that looks like a keycard from the man's vest. Feeling it, there appear to be several bumps reminiscent of braille embedded on the card, rather different from the keycards that come from the Earth I originally lived on…

It appears I've found it. This will let me into the bunker itself.

* * *

Entering the bunker itself was uneventful, thankfully. Just slide that keycard in the slot next to the door and presto. Inside, it's nice and homey, but I prefer my little house bunker more. Less chance of having some critter wander in via teleporter.

Found the terminal I remembered from the game though. Belonged to some women named Roth. Dead guy outside was apparently called "Bix", and they never found him because he was the last to leave through the teleporter and never showed up at their destination.

Ugh, how cliché.

The fuck is this, some horror movie? Why couldn't you idiots wait for him? If there's one thing you should never do in abandoned places like this, it's to split up. Looking through these entries, it doesn't even look like they were being chased by anything or anyone, so I've no fucking clue what the hurry to leave is all about.

From what it sounds, they were hopping through teleporters when Bix stayed behind for some reason. Course, they never saw him again because he ended up dead in a cave somewhere, likely after getting pwned by Scar.

Why couldn't Bix take someone with him while he pissing around in the caves? I can't fathom what convinced him to think "Hey, I should go explore this cave I know nothing about all by my fragile self with **no support whatsoever.** " It might be a bit hypocritical of me, given I started exploring real life FNV by myself, but I got Eddy as soon as realistically possible, and you…

You had a whole group of people to back you up, and you just chose to go off by yourself. Dumbass. It's people like you who die first in horror movies. And you did die, so thanks for proving my point. Good to see natural selection is still working as intended. The gene pool has already been hit hard enough with the whole nuke thing. Still working on breeding out all that idiotic prewar craziness.

Roth's diaries mention some event called the "Big Chill", which had something to do with robots. I have a sinking feeling that all the robots the entry mentions were suffering Skynet Syndrome.

Anyone who has heard of Terminator, I'm pretty sure you're thinking "oh shit" right now.

Or it could just be that all the prewar robots shut down for some reason, but then again, I've only ever completed less than half of this mod before being thrown into the Fallout-verse, so who knows, it might come up into the future in another terminal entry.

No sense in worrying about it now.

I spent the next few minutes raiding the shit out of the place. Got a fair amount of chems and ammo, alongside junk treasure such as bottles and scrap objects. When my Repair, Explosives, and Survival skills get close to 75, I can start really making use of all this junk I'm picking up. Having a large amount of resources to make custom bombs and homemade chems is basically my end goal for all this stuff being collected.

I also might have a hoarding problem. Eh, that's a good thing to have in the fallout verse.

Going past a room filled with control panels and generators, we find ourselves at a locked door. Technically, there's two locked doors, but they both lead to the same room so there's no point in needing to make a big deal out of which one we open. Both doors are lock picked open easily, with just one bobby pin fatality between the two.

Inside the room, goodies include more ammo, a chem lab, and the teleporters I described earlier. They look similar to the models in the game, though a bit sharper and realistic looking which is unexpected because real life. Looking at the nearest working terminal, this time it looks like a different Illuminati member was documenting what he found in each redoubt.

Though he only documented the first four out of eight. Either he didn't have enough time, or everyone died before they could finish exploring and cataloguing each one.

Pleasant thoughts.

Which leads to our present conundrum. Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be a guidebook on how to use the teleporter terminals.

How do these things work?

Guess we'll have to figure out by **trial and error**.

This is absolutely bound to end horribly.

* * *

Five minutes later, and I still haven't made much progress. Blue button makes a weird noise, green does nothing, yellow make some lights on the dashboard flicker, orange-

Hey, I wonder if it's that big ominous looking red button.

No, that would be too obvious.

Better press it just in case.

 _Click_

…

Nothing happened.

Well, that was disappoi-

 _FZZZT_

* * *

 _FZZZT_

-nting.

The first thing I noticed after teleporting was the fact my face was awfully close to the ground, and currently getting closer.

"Shi-"

 _Clang_

Luckily, my metal helmet hasn't magically disappeared from its spot on my head.

Unluckily, it means instead of just my forehead banging against the ground, it banged against the helmet which bounced against the ground.

Three words describing my current predicament? **Ow, my head.**

I spent the next few minutes cradling my face with my helmet still on curled up on the ground swearing in hushed tones. I think I have a concussion.

Also, there's blood in my mouth. Bit my tongue, hurts.

"Dish sushin sucks."

Eventually, the wonderful sensation of a jackhammer drilling in my skull faded away enough so I could get up and have a proper look around.

Wait, let me spit out this blood first. Gotta pull the helmet off and…

"Pluh!"

Better.

Appears to be a control room of sorts. The teleporter is behind me, placed up against the wall with a bunch of screens and complicated looking control panels lining the walls surrounding us.

Eddy's probably flipping his shit right now, as I don't see him anywhere nearby. Likely flying in circles beeping erratically. While I wouldn't want him to worry, I really don't want to kiss the dirt more than I have to today. I'm sure he can wait just a little longer. On that note…

Curses. I'd hoped to avoid the cliché of something happening after pronouncing that nothing happened, but it seems the great fanfiction gods just can't let that one go.

But moving on, we should be currently in Redoubt 007. The entry I read on that terminal basically said this was a room filled with junk, and to be honest, it pretty much is. Walking past the burnt out shell of what once was a Mr. Handy, we find ourselves inside a fairly large room absolutely stacked to the ceiling with boxes and crates, plus a few more destroyed robots for icing on the cake.

I would say, "God, what a dump", but I think I've used that line already.

Salvaging the place, I'd say I made a pretty good haul. Mostly junk items, a couple boxes of ammo I found lying around on the crates, even some stuff for crafting bullets up in the crates near the roof. I think the only bullet-making components I want would be pistol powder and lead, as I remember them being included in several recipes for custom explosives.

Now I'm standing in front of the teleporter, ready for my return trip. Can't say I'm looking forward to this.

 _Click_

Wait for it…

 _FZZZT_

* * *

 _FZZZT_

This time, I was prepared for the disorientation and weakness of my legs that I had experienced the first time I used the teleporter.

I was able to stick an arm out to break my fall, making my eventual collision with the metal-plated ground much more pleasant than the first time round.

Hey, at least I didn't land on my head again.

Eddy, who had been freaking out just as I said he would, tackled me, or at least tried to.

 _Clang_

It would've been heartwarming hadn't I been wearing armor.

* * *

The second redoubt visited was Redoubt 016b. Terminal entry mentioned something about Vault-Tec. Knowing Vault-Tec, we'll likely find some horrible crime against nature they've committed.

I'm getting more and more used to teleporting. Only landed on my knees this time. Slightly awkward due to the kneecap spikes on my armor. Beats landing on my face.

Unfortunately for Eddy, it seems these things have a universal hate for all that use them. Eddy lost control of his flight boosters and fell to the ground rather ungracefully.

He dropped like a brick thrown out of a window.

I am growing a hatred for these things, and I'm sure Eddy just has. After several minutes of convincing Eddy to _not_ shoot the teleporter, we went our merry way doing what we do best.

Taking everything of value that isn't nailed down.

The first area was a nice little underground bunker. Nothing special about it, had a working fridge, a few lockers filled with miscellaneous crap. Like I said, nothing remarkable.

Then we tripped over the Vault-Tec offices. Four letter code terminal blocking access to the offices themselves. Password was "duck" of all things.

Why duck? I have no fucking clue. Perhaps Vault-Tec was secretly run by ducks seeking to push their twisted agenda upon the world. If only I had tinfoil right now…

Moving on, the room behind the terminal-locked door is dark with the only source of lighting coming from red emergency lights that don't do that great of a job lighting the floor up. Squinting, my vision goes green as the night vision mode switches on.

That's better. Just a few feet from the left I find a couple skeletons. There's no flesh or anything rotting on the remains, so these are probably the office's employees. I have no idea how far down in the ground this office is, so it could have been the radiation that killed them or, because Vault-Tec, the office's security systems that were the culprit.

My memory's telling me that robots did it. Better be careful, my axe could either be really effective or it could do jack shit. I do have a plan B if it doesn't work however…

Plasma Grenades. I still have like seven left over from… wherever I got them.

Uh…

Primm Sewers? Probably there. Yeah, that sounds right.

Going back to the entrance and turning right, we find a small office. As I'm rummaging through the desk drawers, Eddy sounds his battle theme, startling me.

I watch him fly up a nearby stairwell like there's no tomorrow.

…He just pulled a Leroy Jenkins on me. That bastard. I get my hands out of the desk and take off after him.

"Eddy, wait a minute-"

"INTRUDER ALERT."

He just had to go and pick a fight with the security system, didn't he? Gotta love that follower ai- oh wait real life, actually that's just him being dumb.

When I do get upstairs, there's a sentry bot firing its laser at Eddy. The eyebot's returning fire, his own laser making contact with the armor plates of the larger robot, not that it seems to be doing much.

"DO NOT INTERFERE IN SECURITY OPERATIONS."

"Oh, shut up."

My fire axe swings gracefully through the air and lodges itself right in the "head" of the robot. Sparks fly and the robot slumps as if deactivating.

Yay, I don't have to resort to plan B.

"THIS UNITTT ISSS UNNAABBLE TO NEUTRALIIIIIIZE THREATT. NOTIFYYING SSEEECCCURRITTYyyy."

Uh-oh.

And everything goes to hell. An alarm blares, red spinning lights turn on, a nearby wall panel slides down to reveal two turrets, the typical signs of failing stealth in a video game. Too bad there's no giant red exclamation mark.

My fist finds itself giving Eddy a "love tap" on his chassis.

"Idiot." _Clank._ He sinks slightly in the air under the force behind my fist.

Eddy beeps mournfully.

* * *

[BOOTING UP…]

[UNIT# 320891 COMBAT READY. DIRECTIVE?]

[RECEIVING DIRECTIVE…]

[RECEIVED.]

[PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: NEUTRALIZE COMMUNIST SECURITY THREAT.]

[COMPLIANCE.]

Rolling out of its hidden wall panel, the sentry bot designated as SB-9145 rolled down its assigned security lane, scanning for threats. It found none, and neither had any other of its metallic comrades. The Mr. Gutsys were in a frenzy, searching furiously for the aforementioned communists while spouting American propaganda at a rapid fire rate. Several Protectrons were roaming as well, their metal feet clanking loudly on the office floor.

It continued patrolling for several minutes, and still found no sign of intrusion. Until…

[IRREGULARITY DETECTED.]

In this particular floor of Vault-Tec offices, there were six individual turrets designed to serve as first responders to a security threat. The units came in pairs of two, and were hidden away behind false walls designed to slide down in response to an unlawful intrusion.

The current set of turrets that SB-9145 was observing were missing the top portions of their mounted bodies. From the looks of it, someone or something had swung some kind of implement at the "heads" of the turrets, causing them to snap off.

Likely, the one responsible was nearby. Silently, SB-9145 digitally uploaded its current view to a shared database, and in the process alerted every other mobile robot on the floor to the sentry bot's location.

[RECOMMENDED COURSE OF ACTION: CONTINUE SCANNING FOR HOSTILES. AWAIT BACKUP.]

And wait for backup it did. SB-9124 continued scanning the area dutifully, switching to thermal vision at the chance of finding something, but had no such luck. It did so silently, which was unusual for its model.

Normal versions of sentry bots would announce loudly for the target to show themselves in order to comply with a robotics law established a few years before tensions began to really rise between America and China, concerning ethical reasons. Mainly in preventing civilians from getting gunned down by being unexpectedly ambushed by a robot before they had time to surrender.

Vault-Tec saw the law as a hindrance and for their own robots, had their own technicians remove the "warning" clause in the programming, technically making the "silent" robots illegal as it broke the law by not giving a warning.

After a minute or two of waiting, noise filled the hallway. Several Mr. Gutsys hover in, patrolling the area while spouting their patriotic drivel. A fellow sentry bot turned a corner, rolling across the marble floor in silence. A couple Protectrons had shown up too, their feet clanking noisily as they stomped up and down the hallway.

One of the Protectrons walks next to an innocent-looking weathered door, the model giving off the regular warnings in its bland robotic tone, this one relatively untampered with by Vault-Tec.

It was completely unprepared as the door swung open with enough force to literally bowl it over, causing it to hit the ground noisily.

A humanoid figure stands in the doorway. Every security bot present turns to look at the intruder.

The intruder is not only tall, but also is recognized as male due to the body physique. The man wears a motorcycle helmet without a visor, his body clad in a barbaric form of body armor comprised of iron with spikes adorning the shoulders. He holds a standard issue fire axe with expertise. Behind him, a small spherical robot slightly larger than a basketball hovers silently. SB-9145 matches its appearance with eyebots used for propaganda, however this one appears to be outfitted with a mounted laser.

This is no civilian.

Without fanfare, SB-9145 starts to charge up its gatling laser, the arm mounted weapon beginning to emit a low hum. Using its targeting parameters, the arm locks on to the intruder's profile.

The man's eyes change color from a shining white to an unnatural green that glows ominously in the poorly lit room. The machines pay no attention to this change, their systems deeming it unimportant.

Lifting his axe and assuming an unrefined combat stance, the man lunges. SB-9145's gatling laser fires, managing to only get a glancing shot off the intruder's left leg to no effect. His armor soaks up the damage. His first target of choice is a nearby Mr. Gutsy. The fire axe rises, then swings down with a large amount of force, heavily denting the circular body of the robot. He follows up with a vertical swing, the blow wrenching metal apart and damaging the Gutsy to the point of its thrusters failing, sending it plunging to the ground.

It impacts the ground in a tangled heap.

Undeterred, (not that it had the capability to feel deterred in the first place) SB-9145 readjusts its arm, lining up another shot. Its fellow robots are beginning to react, the Gutsys spinning their arm motors to the mounted plasma guns, a similar hum from its identical twin across the room, the sound of the Protectron's hand lasers switching on.

The intruder takes a step towards a Protectron and-

 _FZAAPP_

-is beaten to the punch by one forgotten eyebot. The laser hits a bullseye with deadly precision, penetrating the "head" of the Protectron as it strikes the glass "eye", the laser exiting through to the other side of the glass dome. The Protectron's head explodes with a flash of white light and a bang. The husk of the once formerly operable robot tips over and hits the ground, suffering the same fate as its Mr. Gutsy counterpart.

The remaining Protectrons and Gutsys open fire, unleashing a volley of lasers and plasma at both enemies. Unable to dodge, the man takes the brunt of the volley and is temporarily overwhelmed, forced to take a step back to steady himself.

However he is only overwhelmed for a couple seconds, recovering with haste.

"RRRRRRRAGHH!"

A couple steps forward, an axe lifted and swung, causing yet another Mr. Gutsy to bite the dust. Sparks erupt out of the robot's body as it too explodes in dazzling display of light. Placing his foot on his victim, the intruder rips the axe out of the robot, already charging at his next target, the other sentry bot.

SB-9145 switches on its missile launcher. The next few moments are filled with chaos.

The remaining Protectrons were easily dispatched by the Eyebot, with the man destroying the other sentry bot and remaining Mr. Gutsys. SB-9145 is the only one left. The fact means little to it, as it is incapable of feeling fear.

[LOCKING ON...]

A crosshair appears over the male's torso.

[FIRING...]

The missile flies true and explodes in the hallway, causing debris to rain down from above. The sentry bot continues firing, sending at least five more missiles into the smoke cloud now obscuring the hallway.

It pauses after the last explosion.

Silence. Debris continues to rain down from the floor above, making it relatively quiet save for sounds of things crashing into the ground. The smoke still obscures the hallway.

[SCANNING… NO LIFE SIGNS DETEC-]

Jumping from out of the smoke, the man swings his axe horizontally upward at SB-9145, sending it flying off the ground a couple feet. The sentry bot hits the ground on its wheels, though it has the robotic equivalent of confusion at the casual display of impossible force.

[ERROR.]

The intruder unclips something from his belt and throws a brown cylinder at SB-9145. The cylinder bounces across the floor, with several parts on each end sliding to expose green light flooding out of the object.

SB-9145 readjusts its position to scan the mysterious object. It is sad, seeing the limitations of a "dumb" artificial intelligence. Had it been smarter, it would have taken off and possibly retained the ability to function just a bit longer then its fast-approaching expiration date.

[SCANNING… TRACES OF PLASMA DETECTED. OBJECT IDENTIFIED: PLASMA GRENADE.]

[ESTIMATED TIME UNTIL DETONATION. 1.098 SECONDS.]

"Go to hell!"

If one were to retrieve the memory chip containing the last moments of an operable SB-9145, they would see nothing but green.

* * *

Phew. That was a close one. Almost got hit by that missile salvo at the end, but hitting the floor actually worked for once. Worst I suffered was my ears ringing.

But man, that robot sure fucked that hallway up. Having realistic environmental damage isn't always the best of things. Maneuvering my way through all the robotic corpses, I scout out the rest of the building floor, destroying a set of turrets I come across with relative ease.

The door they were guarding leads to an office with a holotape on the desk. Playing it, my assumptions are proved correct as it appears Vault-Tec did set the robots loose on the employees. What a dickbag move for a company.

Nothing else of value aside from pointless junk to salvage are left in this redoubt, so it's time to move on. Also, I think the ceilings going to come down in a few minutes. Those missiles really did a number on the building.

* * *

Alright, so apparently I got the Ant Cave mixed up with the Radscorpion cave. Redoubt 0291a was not home to giant mutated ants as I previously thought, but instead giant mutated scorpions.

I'm trying to decide which is worse. Radscorpions are tougher to kill but don't look as nasty as mutated ants, while said giant ants look fucking hideous but can be easily killed by something as weak as a switchblade.

Oh, and the redoubt leads out to Hidden Valley, so if I ever wanted to sneak in for shits and giggles I have my entryway.

* * *

Redoubt 03S4. Absolutely full of lakelurks, though most of them weren't as nasty as Scar had been. The teleporter location appeared to have taken us under the sea as there was water leaking from above and half of the redoubt itself was flooded.

I knew it was the sea and not just a bunch of leaky water pipes because I got a mouthful of saltwater when a Lakelurk king threw me across a hallway and into the flooded section of the redoubt.

Guess Stonewall only prevents me from being knocked over.

The *best* part was that this wasn't even the worst redoubt I visited during my stay at Reinmann Bunker.

* * *

Redoubt 04RR8 was heavily irradiated, and I got radiation poisoning seconds after I stepped off the teleporter. Hastily, I teleported back the main hub and spent the next few minutes hunched over a desk in the lobby throwing up and waiting for the Radaway to finish purging radiation from my system.

I placed a miniature fan on top of the teleporter pad as a reminder to not ever go there again.

You know, I'm starting to see why only a few people do prospecting in the fallout-verse now.

* * *

Redoubt 055Va. This one led to a perfectly preserved bunker, completely abandoned save for one person, a women named Rose. First thing she asked me was if I was worked for Mr. House.

I told her no, I didn't.

She didn't believe me. What a prat.

To enact my petty revenge upon her, I stole all her nuka cola quantum.

Every. Last. One.

Suck it bitch. You deserve no more mention and will forever be a forgotten plot hole.

Am I being petty?

Absolutely.

Next redoubt!

* * *

 _Redoubt 06AF14_

 _FZZAP_

"SSKKKKKKKKKKRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"

"Oh just die already, you disgusting abomination!"

 _FZZAP FZZAP_

I've always hated fighting queen ants in Fallout New Vegas. Disgusting things. The sounds they make, the way they move, what they look like…

Kill it with fire!

 _FZZAP FZZAP FZZAP_

There's no way in the seven hells I'm going near that thing with my fire axe, so I've commandeered a laser rifle I found earlier for my own use.

 _FZZAP FZZAP FZZAP FZZAP_

Too bad it doesn't do shit in terms of damage. Ah, what I'd give for a flamer or an incinerator right now…

 _FZZZZZZZZ-_

Mm?

 _-AAAAAPPPPPP_

Ooh, a crit!

The shot scores a bullseye on the Ant Queen's head, turning it into ash. A giant pile of ash.

Whatever you do Rick, please do not sneeze.

Eddy gives a symphony of happy beeps at the defeat of the thing we've been trying to kill for what seems to have been forever. It couldn't move its fat bulk through the narrow tunnels of the ant cave the teleporter led out to, so we've been figuratively sitting on our asses and taking potshots at it for the last few ten minutes or so. I ran out of explosives trying to kill all the soldier ants when we first entered. Those things weren't the regular fire ants, instead some sadistic buffed AWOP version. I found out rather quickly when one shrugged off an axe to the head like it was nothing.

Hmm…

I take the laser rifle and rest it on my shoulder. I can feel the leftover critical shot warmth emanating from it through my armor. Laser weapons apparently overheat when they perform a critical.

Perhaps I was too hasty in proclaiming I'd only use melee weapons and explosives. It would be downright stupid to not have a weapon focused on precision at hand. A laser rifle is weak, but a decent weapon fully upgraded.

…It's decided then. I'll carry this here laser rifle as my third weapon. Shouldn't be too bad in settling it in, they only need like twenty five in energy weapons to use properly after all.

There's the level up theme, looks like killing that thing was enough to level me up.

Let's see… set aside a couple points for the new weapon, dump all the rest into this other crap and presto.

Right, now for the perk.

How about Fast Metabolism? Better healing is always good, especially since the world appears to be on hardcore mode.

 **Fast Metabolism- Fat people envy you.**

Now that's just downright rude. Whoever writes these should feel ashamed of themselves.

Trudging my way through the ant caves, I find an entrance leading outside. There's a building off in the far distance. Is that… the Nellis Air Force Base?

I do believe it is. Well, this explains how the ants got into Nellis in the first place.

We can use this to sneak in if we wanted too.

Another time, maybe. I don't feel like interacting with the xenophobic former residents of Vault 34 today. I don't actually remember how many of them actually grew up in the Vault though. Pearl probably did, along with that other old guy whose name eludes me.

It had an "al" in it. I think.

* * *

Redoubt 07GV18c. I didn't stay here long, the reason being that I ran into the devil of the wasteland.

A deathclaw. Baby one, to be specific. I bet you're wondering why I didn't try to kill it.

Well…

Electromagnetic vision revealed that Mama was nearby, along with two other adults. I'm not tangling with deathclaws till I'm like level thirty and have a sizeable amount of explosives at my disposal. Sorry for all those who wanted to see me get owned by a deathclaw. It's not happening.

I hate all of you (jk).

Annnd that's it. That's about as far as we can explore Reinmann Bunker for now, at least till I get better weapons and level up twenty-ish more times. It's going to be an absolute bitch cleaning out all the deathclaws on that last redoubt, I just know it.

Now… time to go home and get some well-deserved R&R. Gosh, I'm tired. Swinging an axe around all willy-nilly sure takes a lot out of you. Since my brain is no longer in fight or flight mode, I'm aware of just how beat I feel. I'll definitely feel sore in the morning.

I take the next few moments to leisurely walk through the cramped halls of the teleporter station, making my way back to the cave. I decide to lock up the entrance I first used for the heck of it. Keycard in, keycard out.

Finally making it outside after having spent a few hours in a crumbling pre-war ruin is a breath of fresh air. The sun's currently in the process of disappearing below the horizon, and the blistering heat has been reduced to a much more bearable state. It won't stay forever like this though. Despite the environment being altered by the nuclear hellfire two hundred something years ago, the Mojave Desert still gets rather nippy at night. Nothing that'll give you frostbite, ain't that vicious, but if you're big on comfort you'll want to stay indoors.

I decide to retire for the coming night and walk home, Eddy in tow.

Tomorrow will be a long day of walking.

* * *

Nipton. Bigger than it was in the game, same as the rest of the places that can be classified as towns. Never have I seen a town that fits the lawless Wild West theme so well. Sure, there aren't people gunning each other down in the streets, but it's got the feeling of a powder keg ready to blow.

Good thing I'm not going to be here when it does. I'd rather not get put on the Legion's shit list so early on for defending myself from their little cult members. Vulpes Inculty can eat my axe for all I care.

Still, you gotta feel bad for the man, especially since he was sexually harassed by that fat fuck this town calls a mayor. Don't believe me? Read the mayor's terminal logs, you can just tell that guy really, really, wanted Vulpes's dic-

Alright that's enough. Nipton, we were talking about Nipton. While the town does look remarkably better without all the burning things and crucified people, it still looks like an absolute cesspool. Seedy-looking people are out sitting in the streets behind tables, selling all kinds of things such as drugs and other items of questionable value. Walking past the house that you find Boxcars in-game and looking down the street toward the town hall, I see two scantily clad women attempting to convince travelers to well… do what hookers do.

I mean, if they really want to go for a roll in the hay, good for them, but judging by how dirty the hookers look it's probably not worth risking catching some form of disease with the amount of times they've had sex with other men. Just saying. Not that I ever would use the services of a hooker anyway, I'm a reputable fello- aw fuck I need to bang that Gomorrah woman for the pimp boy quest. Fuck meeeee.

My desire to kill Ricky for his pip-boy grows stronger each passing day. Maybe I can just take it off his body when the dreadlock-Indians shoot him- no wait I need a pip boy in the first place to travel with the caravan people. Maybe I could "disappear" him when none of them are looking, I get the feeling no one will miss him anyway.

If this was some kind of anime, the scene would cut to Ricky sneezing every time I premeditate his murder. This is a family friendly show definitely.

There's also Powder Gangers walking the street. Looks like these ones were *lucky* enough to escape the great purge. The Legion will kill them eventually, no need to dirty my hands with their blood. The Courier will probably shoot Oliver Swandick for me, glasses wearing prick.

Hmm. Should I even bother trying to save the town of Nipton from the Legion? I watch as some poor sap gets beat up by a bunch of what looks like mercenaries. Would go save him if the guy didn't just attempt to swipe something from one of the nearby vendors. Idiot, at least try to be subtle when committing theft.

No. Not worth my blood and time. Cold of me, but I'm not the hero of this story anyway. Just a background character that knows too much. This place looks like it needs to be burned down anyway, it's an absolute shithole.

Ah, I'll have to wait until everyone's dead till I can ransack the town hall for goodies. Its fine, I'll probably be back round this part of the Mojave eventually. Probably be a completely changed man when I do.

There's no real point in staying here for the day. I'll want to head for the hills to avoid going through that ambush overpass. But first…

Like a true scavenger, I must see if there's anything worthwhile in Nipton's dumpsters before I go. You know what they say, "One man's trash is another's treasure." Having a hoarding problem is a double edged sword. The places I'll go for items I'll probably never use.

So I did just that. While rummaging through Nipton's dumpsters I got over-encumbered for the first time. It happened when I reached into a dumpster and grabbed an empty sunset sarsaparilla bottle.

I very ungracefully fell into the dumpster and couldn't move until I let go of the stupid thing.

Yay, more video game mechanics imposed upon me. How wonderful.

Meanwhile, Eddy was making a strange electronic noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh track. When I finally managed to crawl out of the damn thing, I gave him my best glare.

He played the laugh track again in response. Little bastard.

My eyes narrow. I suppose it's about time I start using him as a pack mule.

Materializing a weapon I hadn't been able to sell yet, a 10 mm submachine gun, I hold it in front of Eddy expectantly.

"Hold this."

I wasn't sure how Eddy held items in the original game, but I think I have a good idea.

Eddy's grill face swung open like a cupboard door, exposing a little area for storage. Knew it.

Taking the weapon, I daintily place it inside Eddy, then frown and reach through the opening of my helmet to scratch my forehead.

That… doesn't look right. I take it back out and then put it back in again.

It fits… but something still seems a little off.

Hrm…

Selecting another item from my 4d I materialize an unsold cowboy repeater. I pick it up from the ground and hold it next to Eddy's chassis.

It's much longer than he is wide. Then, very slowly, I stick the gun into Eddy's storage area.

Somehow, it fits in there.

Golly, Eddy has another dimension inside of him. I attempt to scratch my head bewilderedly, ignoring the fact that there's an inch of metal in the way.

This is some next-level Mary Poppins shit right here.

* * *

"Die damn you!"

It hasn't even been thirty minutes since I left Nipton and already I've been accosted by a group of hooligans. This is so similar to the game this world is based off it's not even funny.

My axe makes contact with the raider's neck, causing blood to spurt out from the horrific gash left in the metal's sudden absence.

Ninety-nine.

Really, you'd think they'd know better not to attack the heavily armored dude with a flying robot buddy by now. The rest of the raider group is dealt with easily, bringing my ever growing kill count to one hundred and three.

We've gone past the hundred mark, I'm so excited.

Not.

Is it a good thing I'm keeping count? It seems kind of morally dubious to be counting the amount of human lives I've taken. Should I stop?

But that means I stop caring about how many people I kill. Damn you errant psychological condition go away, no one likes you!

Ugh… let's just continue for now. It's not like I'm like- OH LOOKIE HERE AT ALL THESE PEOPLE I'VE KILLED- so it should be relatively fine.

Mm. I leveled up again. I killed a lot of things on the way to Nipton. You all know the drill at this point, just distribute my points and…

Look at the new perks.

Adamantium Skeleton. Makes it harder for me to be crippled, definitely want this one.

Man Machine. Allows me to install more cybernetic implants in the torso, will want that later.

Purifier. Extra damage to abominations, I'll be getting that later when I get everything essential.

And lastly, Tin Head. The head version of the Project Nevada cybernetic implant perks.

I'm planning to do all the Project Nevada perks at once, which means I'll want Adamantium Skeleton for this level up.

Boop.

 **Adamantium Skeleton- Brace yourself.**

…

That doesn't sound good.

 _crick_

As time resumes, my body begins to feel funny, almost like I'm having…

 _crick…_

…having growing pains.

 _c-crick…_

My skeleton.

 _C-Crick_

It's going to replace my skeleton.

 _ **CRACK**_

Then, every single bone in my body proceeded to break simultaneously at once.

"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

* * *

 **Look at that, the Redoubt thingy took up more words than expected. Guess the Novac chapter won't have to share itself after all. It only took several months Neurax, you should be proud of yourself (I'm such a lazy sod).**

 **I'd appreciate feedback on the several fighting scenes in this chapter (particularly the robot one, writing that became a soulless endeavor near the end but I had already committed by then so I couldn't just scrap it), as fighting scenes aren't really my area of expertise and I'd like to improve on that aspect.**

 **Also because I am not perfect, (shocking, I know) I forgot to mention a level-up last chapter. All that I chose for my perk was an IT that maxed my intelligence. I wasn't planning anything special for maxing a S.P.E.C.I.A.L stat (dat pun, so horrible), so yeah…**

 **Derp.**

 **Profile**

 **Name: Rick**

 **Level: 14**

 **Title: Shield of Hope**

 **Karma: Good**

 **Perks**

 **Adamantium Skeleton**

 **Animal Control (Rank 2)**

 **Bionic Eyes**

 **Bug Stomper (Rank 2)**

 **Built to Destroy**

 **Comprehension**

 **Day Tripper**

 **Fast Metabolism**

 **Finesse**

 **Hot Blooded**

 **Intensive Training (Rank 4)**

 **Life Giver**

 **Lord Death (Rank 1)**

 **Melee Hacker (Rank 1)**

 **Stonewall**

 **Super Slam**

 **Toughness (Rank 2)**

 **S.P.E.C.I.A.L**

 **Strength – 8**

 **Perception – 7**

 **Endurance – 8**

 **Charisma – 1**

 **Intelligence – 10**

 **Agility – 5**

 **Luck – 5**

 **Skills**

 **Barter - 7**

 **Energy Weapons - 25**

 **Explosives - 35**

 **Guns - 23**

 **Lockpick - 75**

 **Medicine - 35**

 **Melee Weapons - 62**

 **Repair - 60**

 **Science - 35**

 **Sneak - 55**

 **Speech - 35**

 **Survival - 40**

 **Unarmed - 45**

 **Faction Reputations**

 **Goodsprings: Liked**

 **Primm: Accepted**

 **Powder Gangers: Vilified**

 **Brotherhood of Steel (NVC): Fugitive**

 **NCR (Counts for every NCR allied area): Neutral**

 **Edited 2/6/2018.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry for being so late everyone, I've been so busy for the last few months! Least I'm in time for Christmas…**

 **It occurs to me I haven't done a disclaimer on this fic. While I really doubt Bethesda would bother to go through with the effort of sueing me for writing a fanfic about Fallout, it never hurts to be careful.**

 **Don't worry, this is the only time I'm bothering to do this. No need to avert your pretty little eyes away from the disclaimer every chapter.**

 ***clears throat***

 **I don't own the Fallout franchise. Nothing. Zilch. I do however own future original ideas, any OC's that might be introduced in the future, as well as the homicidal super-powered version of myself that is running around the Mojave. Don't own the two mods either. All credit goes to the incredibly talented people who made them.**

 **To the creators, I doubt you'll ever see this message but thank you for making FNV gameplay a better experience. In case you readers have forgotten, the (only) two mods used in this fic are** **Project Nevada** **and** **A World of Pain** **. Give them a try!**

 **frankieu: fixing a vehicle? Hmm… I do know how to drive a car… perhaps.**

 **Big Forehead: Me Me Big Disappointment.**

 **Akashic Records: I have something special planned for the mutant lodge, don't you worry. Probably won't see it till the very end though.**

 **kumbrakarna: I'm like a month late but… close enough?**

 **Rated M for a reason. Bit more of a serious chapter this time round. This is probably the most important chapter related to the plot of this fanfic so far.**

 **10000+ words.**

Chapter 8 – Something ugly in the psyche, demanding to make itself heard

* * *

 _ **The Beast of Burden is my name, killing the unrighteous keeps me sane.**_

 _-First verse of "Antipathy", a mantra associated with the mass murderer known as "Ricksaw"._

 _A controversial figure in recent history, Ricksaw is most in-famously known for killing what is estimated to be in the tens of thousands of raiders, slavers, cannibals, and assorted criminals across the remnants of what was once the United States of America._

 _When appearances first started in 2281, Ricksaw was largely believed by many to be a horror story, a myth intended to dissuade those with unsavory intentions from preying on the less fortunate. But the myth was proven true at the Battle of Hoover Damn when Ricksaw appeared in front of NCR and Legion forces. In one of the few recorded mass sightings of the mythic boogeyman, Ricksaw responded to the request for help by one of Mojave's heroes of the wastes, The Courier, in aiding her against the invading Legion forces at Hoover Dam._

 _Ricksaw proved his existence to the masses by slaughtering Legionaries by the dozens. With Ricksaw's help, alongside others, The NCR and Vegas were successful in driving the Legion out of the Mojave Wasteland._

 _Mojave Wasteland has been noted as unusual in the fact it birthed several greatly influential figures as opposed to the usual one for most areas, such as the Lone Wanderer from the Capital Wasteland, or the Sole Survivor from the Commonwealth. Many of the men and women accompanying the Courier attained legendary status among their peers, and have earned their place in history._

 _-Excerpt from "Men and Women of the Wastes." a book containing facts about influential figures of the wasteland from all across the continent of North America. Written by Miranda Harrison, published year 2307._

* * *

I stared up at the sun, my mechanical eyes dull in their gaze. The sun couldn't harm my eyes, nor leave blemishes. There were black shapes high above, likely birds, circling the sky above me.

Is… is it over?

From my sprawled position on the ground I sit up slowly. My body spasms in response, hands trembling and fingers twitching.

That… that had been… something, for a lack of a better term. I don't think I have ever… felt that much pain before. My bones shattered, all of them. My skull, my limbs, my… everything.

It was excruciating. I felt like I was on the verge of dying, yet couldn't slip away into blessed unconsciousness.

I grab the sand, attempting to stop the twitching in my right hand. The effort is for naught, as my hand just begins to spasm even more.

This body… It must have some kind of version of the gamer's body thing I've read about in all those gamer crossovers. Something that allows me to feel pain yet prevents death until my "health points" run out. It's the only explanation I have for not dying from lacking a skeleton for a few seconds. The sensory overload should have outright killed me from the pain, but I stayed lucid for the entire thing. Which I wish I rather didn't, as it sucked… massive balls to feel.

I felt my entire skeleton break and then regrow in a matter of seconds. I don't think I'll ever be doing that again, if I could ever have a chance to repeat it.

Bracing myself I attempt to stand. Putting pressure on my legs- _**Breaking, everything broke-**_

I find myself face down in the dirt.

Oh… when did that happen?

Need to get up. Need to keep moving.

Can't. Limbs won't respond.

So… this is what… trauma… feels like?

Can't say… that… I'm a fan. It hurts to think. Thoughts are… coming in sporadic, clumped- no parceled, chunks as opposed to a flowing thought process.

The warm sand is comforting. I can just lay against it not thinking and everything will be alright, yes everything everything everything broke everything did it hurts it hurts it hurts oh the beach feels nice today eve rhythm ng every ding Ed dy whe area's Eddy everythi-

My vision fades, and I dream of fractured blood red bones filled with marrow that leaks out through the cracks. The cracks splinter, and-

…

…

…

…*

…**

* * *

 _ **A man stands in a giant entrance hall. He's all alone, not another soul in sight.**_

 _ **This is acceptable for the man. Right now, he doesn't want to be bothered by anyone, much less his blood siblings. Taking a few steps forward, he ponders his next move.**_

 _ **Feeling cold metal press against his neck, the man grasps hold of the coldness and brings it into view. It's a necklace. One he knows all too well. A bloodied ring of metal, with several arrows shooting out from the center.**_

 _ **This recent… development… has shook his faith more than he'd like to admit. He's not against bloodshed but… children? Should the next generation have to serve as fuel for the unholy fire that is power?**_

 _ **Though the man is emotionally incapable of feeling remorse or pity, he's always been the most pragmatic out of his colleagues. Sacrificing children for such a… alteration… seems like a very poor decision. They wouldn't survive the fallout among the slaves to come if the scheme was to be uncovered, contrary to what his establishment believes, and they would be subjecting innocent beings to the horrors of such a fate.**_

 _ **There are too many slaves and not enough of them, if the slaves were pushed to the breaking point and decided to endlessly throw themselves at the movement, it would end two ways. Either the establishment would die first, or a total extermination of all a count more than 500,000 slaves strong would be necessary to prevent further insurrection. That's also not accounting for The Sewer Dwellers, The Tribals, or The Old Security in the event the slaves manage to get them to side with them.**_

 _ **Unlikely to ever occur, but stranger things have happened.**_

 _ **Use the sewer dwellers he says, but no, they laugh at him and scorn him saying it has to be children for the "purity".**_

 _ **Idiots. When their plan eventually backfires he won't bother saying "I told you so."**_

 _ **Committing crimes against nature never ends well. Something they've been long overdue for.**_

 _ **But for now… he needs to leave. If he stays, they will expect him to undergo the change just like the rest of them. They will likely dispose of him if he refuses to comply. Defiance is, never has been tolerated under their… establishment.**_

 _ **He stares at the necklace once more. What he is about to commit will be seen as heresy for certain. Well, he'd never really felt like he believed in the "god" signified by this thing anyway.**_

 _ **He grips the necklace tightly and pulls. It snaps off easily, and the man throws it across the room. It slides across the metal floor of the bunker, hitting the wall with a dull clank.**_

 _ **This isn't a life he wants to live.**_

 _ **The man won't have anything more to do with those people. He's not going to take the fall with them.**_

 _ **It's time to disappear. Somewhere they wouldn't think of looking for him. He's been planning escape ever since they picked him off the streets to become part of their "chosen". A plan more than 21 years in the making, finally bearing fruit.**_

 _ **Once he's out of that snowy hellhole, he needs to find someplace to take up residence in. A city would be too obvious. The wilderness would be too suicidal.**_

 _ **Perhaps… a small town, out in the middle of nowhere.**_

* * *

My eyes snap open. Gasping for breath, I remove myself from where I must have fallen earlier. My head is pounding from a headache that must have come from hell. I was lying face down in the sand, with drool leaking out of my mouth. Sand is in my beard.

Ah, I… collapsed. Why did I collapse? I was doing something yes, but what…

I gaze upon my surroundings, spotting a few raider corpses.

Oh yes indeed, I leveled up… Adamantium skeleton. Everything broke, yes everySTOP STOP STOP!

 _*Take a deep breath. Rationalize the situation. Breathe out.*_

Calmly, I breathe out.

Leveled up to level 14. Picked Adamantium skeleton as perk. Former skeleton broke, presumably replaced itself with the Adamantium material, whatever that is. Likely stronger than normal human bones. Collapsed due to exhaustion and stress. Not thinking straight, possible brain damage. Most likely have trauma due to recent distress. Don't move, don't react.

…

Nothing's happened. Possibly safe from triggering another episode.

Slowly, I reach out and grab a handful of sand. Opening my hand, I watch as sand particles fly out of it due to a gust of wind. That's good. No distress yet.

Hesitantly, I get up and stand on my feet. I sway slightly, and stamp my right foot into the sand to ground myself. Still feel a bit disoriented.

I flex my hand, feeling sand on my fingers. Damn stuff must have gotten into the armor when I was taking a nap.

Where's Eddy?

Several ash piles, small in size, surrounded me. I think Eddy has been shooting any birds who tried to peck me while I was… incapacitated. Damn vultures. Or ravens, probably ravens.

 _FZAPP_

Oh, there he is. Eddy's currently running away from a bunch of golden geckoes, taking the occasional potshot at the horde. Must have gotten too close for comfort. I pull the fire axe from my back and prepare to help Eddy.

Assuming my stance, I prepare to charge when my hands twitch uncontrollably and the axe slips out of my fingers, making a muffled thump in the sand.

I stare blankly at the weapon. Bending on my knees I try to pick it up, only for my hands to spasm once more and have it fall out of my grasp.

…

Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

Thinking of a solution…

!

Kneeling down, I place the palm of my currently-useless right hand underneath the grip of the fire axe. Reaching with my left hand into a pocket on my person I pull out a roll of bandages. Using my arm and palm to prop up the axe, I concentrate and force my fingers to grip the fire axe with difficulty. It's far too slow for my liking. I definitely have some form of nerve damage in my hands.

Greeeeaaaatttt. Wouldn't be a proper protagonist without some form of handicap. Thank you so much writer, I bet you think you're being really clever right now.

Fuck you.

Putting the loose end of the bandages in my mouth and biting down, I begin to tie my hand to the axe. After a minute I finish it with a simple, but tight knot. The rest of the bandages I cut off using the blade of the fire axe, which is still plenty sharp despite not sharpening it recently.

Then, I assisted Eddy. Thankfully, my impromptu hold on the fire axe didn't lessen its lethality any. An axe to the head is still an axe to the head, no matter how clumsily it was delivered.

After felling the last of the geckoes, my body had a fit once more and I collapsed. Thankfully, I recovered quickly and was able to hoist myself back up without much trouble.

Eddy beeped worriedly at me. For him, seeing me scream in pain and collapse out of nowhere must have been quite a shock. Double with the fact that I wasn't doing too hot right now.

"I'll be alright Eddy. It'll get better with time."

Hopefully.

Eddy gave off the impression of not being convinced, but didn't push the issue. He for a lack of a better word gave a heavy impression of pouting as he swiveled away from me. Heh, for the "vanilla" version, the eyebot is just as emotive as his Divide counterpart, if not more.

"Come on, we've got a lot of ground to cover. Want to be in Novac by at least midnight."

Eddy beeped affirmative, and we continued our journey to Novac.

As the day progressed on, the spasms seemed to go away, only to return with a vengeance every few hours. The waiting time between each episode increased little by little every time it happened. With luck, it'll eventually go away completely. I can only hope.

I suppose this is what I get for taking the whole gamer thing for granted. I didn't even consider the fact that the perk would hurt or debilitate me in the first place. Now I'm stuck with nerve damage for my carelessness, and who knows if I'll ever fully recover. Can't blame myself too much. Never in all my years of reading fanfiction or any other gamer related thing have I come across a new skill actually hurting the recipient.

Which means this is something uniquely tailored for me. Just my luck. There's nothing I can do about it however. Walking back to Goodsprings for Doc Mitch to have a look would take too long, seeing as I've just reached that abandoned ranch near the old pre-war highway bridge. It was nearing dusk by the time I stepped onto the property, with the sun just beginning to dip beyond the horizon.

Still abandoned just like it was in-game. Harvested some plants and fruit growing there unabated, and then retrieved the unique meat cleaver, Chopper, from the nearby shack. If I didn't know any better I'd think it was just another meat cleaver, albeit with a curved blade that's slightly rusty brown in coloration.

I decide to take a break. Telling Eddy not to wander far, I sat down on a beat up mattress that was lucky enough to be on a bed frame. With a bit of difficulty, I untied the bandages securing the axe to my hand. I kept it on the entire time on the walk to this place, mostly because I remember there being more raiders in the hills and didn't want to be caught with my pants down should any of them had decided to say hello.

I try moving my hand experimentally. The fingers and hand respond, which is good. Slight delay, but nothing major. There is still however, a twitch that refuses to go away.

"Fuck."

I punch the wall of the shack halfheartedly, not putting any force behind the blow. Allowing myself to sprawl on the mattress, I wince as I feel a bedspring scrape the back of my armor. After checking to make sure it won't skewer me, I ponder my next move.

There's a chance the nerve damage could heal over time, but given that it was a result of my skeleton breaking I highly doubt it. I'm not much of an expert on the subject, but I believe I would have to apply electro-therapy for my best bet at recovering. Have no clue if it would actually work, I'm just guessing this on the logic that because nerves carry electrical signals and they would need a bit of juice to aid in recalibrating. Need to find a real doctor and ask them.

I obviously can't do that right now, which means I might have to rely on something else I'd really rather not.

Drugs.

What's there to state the obvious disadvantages of using drugs as a short term solution? Let's see- addiction, dependency, and the altering of my body's biochemistry to just name a few. Because it just wasn't good enough that our protagonist is suffering a mental disorder, but also needs be an addict as well.

No. No drugs unless we have to. I'm not falling into that pitfall no matter how helpful they will be. I will get addicted and suffer from drug abuse later on if I use such methods. There's no such thing as being able to moderate it, it will happen no matter how hard I try to not get addicted.

In fact, let's not even think about which drug will help me. I know this sounds dumb and this decision probably has a good chance of getting me killed later, but if I don't know which one will help me I can't abuse it in the first place. I don't trust myself enough not to. Moderation's never been a strong suit of mine, as I'm practically addicted to caffeine and can't go without a soda every few days.

Well, couldn't. Switching bodies has gotten rid of that particular addiction. It's almost worth it being a total antisocial ass in exchange for having a fit body.

I need to fix my charisma, I really do.

* * *

It was a full moon tonight. The air was cold and crisp, a slight breeze was blowing, and I was absolutely freezing my nuts off.

Kindly ignore that last part.

The moonlight lit up the surrounding desert landscape and looked positively beautiful, marred by one slight thing.

A camp full of raiders.

Now, I know what you're all thinking: I really shouldn't be doing this given I've suffered a traumatic incident today, but my only other option is heading to Novac to rest, and I don't feel like doing that. I slept for roughly six hours at Wolfhorn, with Eddy standing guard. Currently, I feel as fit as a fiddle.

As proof of this statement, earlier I took down a bunch of Nightstalker's. Granted, I had the advantage of knowing they were there when they attacked the legionaries, who attacked a nearby caravan, whose members all died horribly.

Just a typical night in the Mojave Wasteland.

Oh yes. The last hour was hectic, to say the least. The game sadly wasn't exaggerating, can't walk five minutes without getting attacked by something. No wonder nearly every Fallout protagonist in fanfiction is a crazed paranoid shoot first ask questions later kind of person. They also more commonly than not suffer from some kind of PTSD.

You can't really blame them when they're so used being attacked nonstop. Poor bastards. Poor me.

Do you feel sorry for me? Probably not.

How heartless of you. You should feel ashamed of yourself.

Currently, I'm sitting up on a ridge that overlooks the subway tunnel entrance the camp is built around. I'm near that deathclaw cave that was in the original game. Made sure to check thoroughly with thermal vision before setting up for the night. Since Eddy has a tendency to act on his own, I've sent him to linger near the house and come warn me if a deathclaw so much as pokes its ugly mug out of that cave. Littered the path on the way up to my position with disguised mines hidden behind rocks and stuff.

Since I'm still not confident in my body not fucking up at a critical moment, I've decided to do something different this time instead of my usual battle plan of charging in headfirst.

Working on my aim and being a call of doodie camper. And I don't even play that shit game. I bought a few mods for the laser rifle, which were the scope and that piece of machinery that you snap on the front, making it do extra damage. Not the twin beams thing.

The scope for the laser rifle is the weirdest kind of scope I've ever seen. Instead of it being the normal circular scope you see on sniper rifles it's instead this strange roundish rectangle. I mean, I've seen it before in the game and thought nothing of it, but it's just weird in real life.

Maybe it's because the creators were trying to go for the whole futuristic look. Looks cool, but seems unrealistic.

...Ah right, I'm in a video game turned real life. You know what, I'll let it slide just this once.

In any case, let's get right to sniping. I don't expect to be hidden for too long, as the beam from the rifle and the light cast by the moon will give my position away when the raiders start actively looking for me. By the time they do find me I'll have hopefully whittled their numbers down a fair amount. Count in Eddy and the mines and there's a possibility I won't have to lift my axe once.

Squinting twice, my vision transitions into a world of blue and far off reds. Might as well use the other features of the bionic eyes more often, after all that huffle of me risking the chance of losing an eye for good. That was pretty stupid of me in hindsight, but they were so worth it.

Hmm… how about that chap right there?

* * *

Clint was a raider. Not the most respectable of professions, but hey, a man's gotta eat. He'd done it all. Killing, thieving, extortion, you get the idea.

Reaching into his coat pocket, Clint pulled out a cigarette and a match box.

He'd had a good run so far as a raider. Had three meals a day for the most part, along with relative safety in numbers.

Though…

Lately, Clint had been reconsidering his life choices. Perhaps his conscious was nagging at him. He had done some pretty questionable shit over the years, and this lucky streak wouldn't last. Never did with his kind. Sooner or later, some scmuck with a decent weapon who happened to be tougher than his entire group would show up and wreck shit something fierce.

Clint didn't really want to go out like that, would make his crap life seem meaningless. If he was gonna die, than he was gonna go down doing something that was worth dying for. Not sittin outside some subway tunnel out in the middle of goddam nowhere.

He didn't even like his "comrades", which mainly consisted of nasty sons of bitches, shitheads, rapists, and cannibals. There were few people in that group who were like him. People who just wanted to survive.

Clint shivered. He wasn't a good man, far from it, but even he had his standards. Food wasn't exactly plentiful in the wasteland, but consuming your fellow species…

Clint was one of the few who refused to go inside that subway tunnel. He could, but he preferred the harshness of the desert rather than be sharing his sleeping space with cannibals.

Far as he knew, all the captives from the last caravan they raided had been eaten by the subway dwellers, though he had heard rumors from Niles, one of the few brave souls who had the balls to sleep amongst those… things, which one of the girls had been spared as a "stress reliever".

Poor girl. She didn't deserve Tashia's "tender" mercies, but who was he to stop her? Not worth going toe to toe with her. Hell, she'd probably set those cannibals on him. Scratch that. He'd definitely end up as another meal for them.

He turned his head around to nervously glance at the door to the subway tunnel, in fears one of them would have heard his thoughts. It was irrational, but after seeing Todd get into a disagreement with Tashia one day, he disappeared that night and Barry never saw him again.

Tashia. Utter bitch. From what he'd heard, she had originally been a normal bottom feeder just like the rest of them, but the previous boss had had a thing for her, so he placed her as his second in command. When he got his ass killed running into a Legion patrol, Tashia took over the raider gang.

And boy, did she have a mean streak. Nobody wanted to get on her bad side, not even the fucking cannibals, and those guys were half fucking crazy to begin with. Tashia was one of those people who looked pretty on the outside, but the second she opened her mouth you'd know she was someone to steer clear of, lest you want your throat slit at night for saying something she might interpret as an insult.

And if you disagreed with her, it was your ass for dinner. Girl had an inferiority complex bigger than the damn moon.

Really makes you question why he didn't just cut and run. Clint wondered that too. It wouldn't be hard, just volunteer to watch the outside at night, like what he was currently doing. Then, slip off into the wasteland, hopefully able to start somewhere else anew.

So why hadn't he done it?

Simple. He was afraid. Clint wasn't exactly blessed with a strong constitution, forcing him unable to use any weapon reliably except for pistols. If he got caught trying to flee, he'd get the piss beat out of him, possibly eaten, alongside the dubious honor of becoming a new play toy for that damn bitch!

He cursed as the match was snuffed out by a slight breeze. Damn wind. Do you know how hard it was to get a fucking lighter that actually worked in the wasteland?

Not fucking likely!

So matches it was. Luckily, he was able to successfully light his cigarette on the second match and puffed away on it contentedly.

How had he even ended up in this position? Well, a couple months back he was part of a gang of Vipers a little ways near Novac. One day, Tom, the former leader of the raider group Clint was in decided to merge with a nearby group of raiders living in the subway tunnel that was across from the whole highway.

A little while after his group merged with the subway raiders, they managed to raid a caravan group. Five males, three females. Probably a family looking to seek their fortune in Vegas. Such a thing wasn't uncommon these days. Stupid though. Gangs like his had sprung up everywhere these days, not to mention those crazy ass Fiends living in the ruins of Outer Vegas.

But he was getting off topic. They shot the men, captured the women, and looted the caravan.

That's when things went downhill.

See, one of the subway raiders had, instead of letting the bodies of the men rot out in the sun, taken the bodies inside the subway tunnel. That set off warning bells in the newly integrated gang. Just what were they planning to do with those bodies?

Low and behold, a few days late the unpleasant truth was laid bare to all when Dickson, one of the "shitheads" ran out and hollered to all that "Them fuckers are eating the bodies!"

Very astute Dickson. This didn't sit well with Tom, who marched into the sewer and confronted Brackson, the old leader of the subway raiders. A few tense minutes later, Tom came back out and walked off into the desert. Some followed him. Most didn't.

Even if your bedfellows were cannibals, there was safety in numbers. The wasteland wasn't a hospitable place, and if you had enough guys around you to feel safe, then that was a luxury not guaranteed to most.

The ultimate fate of the women was to be expected. The two older women were raped, beaten, and eventually eaten by those sick fucks. The only reason the younger one survived was that Brackson had claimed her for himself, and when he was eventually killed, Tashia turned her into her personal whipping girl.

Clint felt sorry for her, he really did, but there was nothing he could do. He never really wanted to be a raider in the first place, but he had no other options at the time when he had first started all those years ago. He just wanted to live. Just wish he didn't have to- what was that?!

A flash came from up on the ridge, and Clint looked up just in time to witness one of his "friends" get vaporized into an ash pile.

 _Sniper!_

Clint made a mad lunge for one of the poorly constructed metal huts. He hit the ground hard, grunting as he dragged his way behind cover. He could already hear the angry voices of his fellow raiders as more red beams fired themselves from up on the ridge to the northwest. Suddenly, an explosion rocked a hut close to Clint, leaving his ears ringing. One by one, he watched as more of his comrades fell to the sniper.

They were being decimated.

Clint pulled his gun out. It was an old plasma pistol, nothing special aside from the fact it had served him well throughout the years. But he was no expert marksman. What could he do against a sniper with just a energy pistol -

Wait. This was his chance!

But the girl…

Clint glanced up at the ridge.

 _That guy's probably going to clean house. If that girl isn't dead, she'll likely be rescued by that sniper._

Conscience sated, Clint turned his gaze back onto the road. There was nothing stopping him now. No moral obligations, nothing. It was now or never. It was unlikely he'd ever get a chance like this again. Spitting the cigarette in his mouth out, Clint pulled his pre-war cowboy hat down slightly to shield his eyes from the sand blowing in the wind.

"Time to dash. It wasn't a pleasure, and good riddance."

Clint holstered his gun and ran for his life. If luck was on his side, he could reach Novac in an hour. He didn't get far before the accusation of "Coward!" notified that his currently-in-progress abandonment had been noticed.

Upon hearing the far off yelling of one of his former "comrades", Clint redoubled his efforts and exerted himself, eventually managing to reach the old highway road. Panting heavily, he ran onwards, not looking back even once. Miraculously, he wasn't shot at by the sniper on the ridge.

Perhaps luck was on his side for once.

 _Little did Clint know, but looking back on it years later, his choice to turn away from the life of a raider ended up being the most important decision of his life._

* * *

I eject the spent microfusion cell from my laser rifle, causing it to join a small pile of used cells on the ground next to me.

Well, that's that. Let's see that's like… one hundred and fifteen. I killed seven guys directly, four got blown up by the mines, and Eddy shot one at the very end. Since I repaired Eddy and he's practically mine by ownership, his kills are technically mine. Only cause he's a robot.

Not sure if Eddy has a soul, but regardless of the true answer I'll just assume responsibility for his actions...

Speaking of kill counts…

Hey, I wonder if when I get a pip boy it'll just magically know everything I've done during my time here. Also wondering if I get a fast travel feature and how that would work.

Maybe I just simply teleport. Or the funnier option is that I lose control of my legs and run really, really fast across the desert. Now that, would be amazing. Potentially terrifying and most likely traumatizing, but amazing.

Actually, I have a confession to make.

I lied about getting all of them. There was this one lanky guy who booked it earlier after I took the first shot. Not sure what that was about. Don't think it was out of fear as everyone else stayed behind. Perhaps he had a change of heart and realized the error of his ways.

Nah, he's probably just a coward. Well whatever, maybe he'll live long and prosper.

 _Doo doot doo doot_

Here comes the level up.

Let's see… ooh! Mad Bomber!

Finally, I can make use of some of the junk I've been collecting for the past few weeks. Also we can make really cheap microfusion grenades that will come in handy should we find ourselves in the Sierra Madre.

Though I'm not really sure I want to go there… the gold's not really worth going through all that suffering. Only real thing of interest there would be the holorifle, since that's like one of the most powerful energy weapons in the vanilla game.

Perhaps the vending machines could be useful… need a crap ton of fission batteries…

By the way, what are fission batteries used for anyway? I think it was… crafting rockets? I never really used Red Glare that much since it would lag out my game with V.A.T.S.

Plus the damage isn't that great late game.

Hmm… we'll have to see. Need to find the Courier first.

 **Mad Bomber- Allah is the greatest.**

I bet he is. At least the description isn't something worse.

Making my way down the ridge and disarming all of the mines I had placed earlier, I cautiously entered the ramshackle raider camp that definitely wasn't here in the vanilla game. Wasn't in AWoP either, so this is something entirely different.

Ah, there's my first victim. The shot I fired actually turned him into ash. Now my hands are seeing if there's anything worth…

Oh. That's different.

There's like… all his crap-

Tugging slightly, I pull a fully intact caravan shotgun out of the human ash pile.

This really shouldn't be able to fit in that tiny ash pile.

I need to experiment. Sit tight for the next few minutes.

…

Alright kiddies, Uncle Rick's here to educate you little shits. Listen.

Using the knowledge I've gained through digging in human ash piles, I've learned of another aspect of my… gamer-ness. Now for me, how disintegration into an ash pile via laser rifle works is that everything biological… withers and ash-ifies for a lack of a better term. Everything else is left intact, so stuff like weapons and miscellaneous can be retrieved with a little bit of digging through a person's ash remains.

Kinda morbid in hindsight, but I doubt that'll stop me from pilfering regardless.

Ooh it's going to be sooo much fun if I use plasma. I don't think I really want to put my hands in that.

Going throughout the camp, I find all sorts of the usual decorations. Ammo boxes, strewn items, the usual. I eventually reach the subway tunnel. Now if I remember correctly, there was a door… right… here!

AWoP. I guess we should go inside. Let's crack the door open a notch and have a look inside. Inside the subway tunnel, it is dark, which isn't really unexpected.

Alright.

"Eddy."

 _Inquisitive beeping_

"Keep your distance for a bit. I wanna try stealth for once."

 _Confirmatory beeping_

Rick's voice has some sort of accent on it. I didn't notice before because his throat hurt from disuse every time I spoke and as a result, his voice possessed a scratchy quality to it. Since then, I've been making a habit to talk aloud at random intervals to get used to speaking again. It's worked magnificently and I no longer sound like I have a handful of gravel present in my mouth whenever I speak. Though I still have the pissed off quality in my, well, our voice. Which is a pity, because I don't think that's ever going to go away.

Stepping into the tunnel, I then proceeded to completely slaughter anything that moved.

Pew. Pew.

* * *

"What do we have here?"

The man licks his lips, with his tongue trailing across his cheek. He points his oversized machete at me.

"Fresh meat."

Now that's what I call edgy, ladies and gents. He then proceeded to run at me, oversized machete raised overhead and poised to strike.

"Tch." I threw the laser rifle to the side and reached for my axe. The rifle will probably be fine, it's lasted 200 years so far, there's no reason it would break now.

Nearing striking distance, the guy jumps up into the air and with a battle cry, and brings his machete down on my head. Raising my axe, I block the strike with the middle of the handle. No sign of my muscles failing me, good…

The machete bounces off and with the man's blow redirected away from me, I slam the end of my axe into the cannibal's gut, causing him to double over wheezing. Raising the weapon over my head, I swing the axe down upon the raider's head. It splits his head open like a walnut with a great meaty _crack_ , and ooh that's nasty.

" _Oh shit!"_

Maneuvering my way around my most recent victim's corpse, I charge at another raider who's had the dubious fortune of walking out from a corner. He goes down without much of a fight.

For the next several minutes the floor of the subway tunnel becomes more and more bloodied as corpses begin to pile up in the maintenance tunnels. Not really bright, these raiders.

Along the way I discover several human corpses in the kitchen waiting to be carved up. Look like these raiders were cannibals.

Really?

I mean come on, it's not there's absolutely nothing to eat out in the desert. Go find a barrel cactus plant with some fruit on it you shits! Sure it'll make you feel ill, but you won't go hungry! Or hell, what about the mole rats? I know I saw some up in the hills on the way here.

Sneaking up behind a bloke with a chainsaw of all things I put my hand over his mouth and slit his throat, silent execution style. As I lay his currently bleeding-out corpse quietly on the ground, I hear a slight noise.

From the sound of it, someone is getting the absolute piss beaten out of them.

Turning the corner, I see a women with pink hair crouched over another person. I then witness the women punch the other across the face.

Ah shit, that's not a raider. Real life, of course there might be prisoners.

The pink haired bitch is yelling something very impolite to their captive, summed up basically as "I am so much better than you. You are worthless. Quit looking at me like that!"

That woman has issues.

Then, the women leaned out of the way to grab something that looked like a knife. Crap, I need to put a stop to this before this gets any wor… worse…

Oh God.

My vision unobstructed, I saw the women's "punching bag."

Her victim, a young girl that looked to be at least in her early teens, sat there kneeled with her hands and feet cuffed, clad in nothing but dirty rags. Her eyes were dead, her lip was split, and parts of her hair appeared to be torn out, leaving parts of her head bald. Face bruised and covered in blood and grime, her arms were littered with scars both old and new.

Whatever I was going to say next was forgotten entirely as my mind turned to thoughts of absolute fury.

My vision tunneled, focusing on nothing but the female raider and that chained victim. My fist clenched, my teeth formed into a snarl as I started taking steps forward toward the woman. So intoxicated by the power, the authority she held over the life of another, that she didn't notice me.

You… You… I'll…

A dull pounding registers itself in my brain. My head begins to feel warm, like something is trying to spill out into my psyche. I've… began to salivate at the mouth.

What is this feeling- these… feelings of **hunger**?

 _ **^%$ &%*^%&-[Marauder Antipathy]-&%^*%&$%^**_

 _ **ANGER**_

 _ **RESENTMENT**_

 _ **BLOODLUST**_

 _ **HATRED**_

This…I feel…

 **Strange.**

That women… she needs to be…

She needed to be **hurt** , to **feel pain** like no other. The axe was no good. Too fast. Too **merciful**.

No, I needed something… more. Something that would **flay and rip** the skin, something that would invoke **terror** in her mind and body, something that would-

Looking back, my gaze fell upon a bloody chainsaw clutched in the grip of a dead raider I had dispatched not moments ago. Bloodied, not from use, rather from the wounds of its former owner. Cut arteries often cause major blood loss, regardless if the person is freshly dead or not.

…Yes. It would be perfect.

I halted in my movements and bent down, taking a moment to pry it out of the death grip its previous owner was currently inflicting upon it.

The chainsaw was heavy, incredibly so. It lacked the balance the fire axe had offered me, instead substituting with an unwieldy, cumbersome shape. Clearly, it wasn't ever intended to be used as a conventional weapon.

In a few moments however, that was going to change.

I resumed my pace, absentmindedly taking a moment to find and locate the on switch. Pressing a button located on the side of the impromptu weapon powered the chainsaw on. Fusion powered, apparently doesn't need gasoline to function. It whirred quietly to life as I continued my steady walk to the woman.

She hadn't noticed a thing, must be confident that she wouldn't be disrupted. My eyes narrowed, accidently switching night vision on and turning my world bright green.

I raised the chainsaw up, the spinning blade held to the side, ready to **hurt** and **maim** when the time came. Coming to a stop, I slammed my right foot onto the plated floor, causing a sharp _clang_ noise. I was directly situated behind the raider, gazing down upon her crouched form as she continued carving what would be horrific future scars into the face of her defenseless victim.

The pink haired women jolted a bit at the noise I caused, causing the knife she held to cut a bit more deeply into the girl. She let out an annoyed sound, apparently I had caused an imperfection in her "work".

The girl didn't even react.

Am I too late?

Is she broken?

 **THIS BITCH IS GOING TO PAY.**

"Oh, what is it this time, Phillip, I'm busy here-"

With utmost **glee** , I kicked her. Hard. She fell over to the side, nearly landing on top of her victim. Absolutely livid, she turned around swearing at me.

"Phillip, you fuck, what the fuckin hel-"

Her pupils dilated and the words coming out of her mouth tapered off. I must have been a sight to see, covered in the blood and holding such a weapon as crude as a chainsaw.

Someone else might have made a speech. How she was a monster and that she needed to die in the name of justice.

I just stared silently at her and lifted the chainsaw up slightly, my fingers gripping the handles tightly.

"…"

The woman whose name I didn't even know, reached for a plasma rifle propped up on a nearby wall. Eddy, who had been completely forgotten by everyone in the heat of the moment, shot her hand. Screaming, she withdrew it and cursed, holding her injured hand with her other. I took a step forward, wrapping my index finger around a red trigger on the steel behemoth I held. She looked up and attempted to crawl backwards.

"N- no, please…"

Good, she knew what was coming.

Someone else might have asked why. Why would you do such a horrible thing? To do something so despicable?

"Please! I'll do anything!"

The reasons mattered not. Even if she spilled her entire life story to me, what was the point? She was still going to die at the end. This isn't justice. This is vengeance, pure and simple. The bloodthirst of one person, to end another's. Violence only breeds more violence and yet…

"Do you want money?! I can pay you!"

…I found myself caring little about the fact that killing her would solve nothing in the long run, and only cause me future grief when the reality of what I'd done would eventually hit me.

I turned the rotating blade to face her. It was technically the chain that would do the work, but I couldn't really care less about what the proper term was at this point.

"I'll give you anything! My body, my, my-"

" **Shut your damn mouth."**

My voice was devoid of emotion. Had I not been wearing a helmet that covered my mouth, the women would have seen my face resembling granite in a neutral, apathetic expression.

The next words I spoke came out in a bored tone, as if I were discussing the weather.

"There's only one thing I want from you."

She looked at me hopefully. It's always the ones who've committed the worst crimes that want mercy from the pain of death. I looked directly into her eyes, wide and terrified with hints of desperation in the pupils.

"I want you to die a painful, bloody death."

It was morbidly comical how quickly her face went from hopeful to terrified. I raise the chainsaw over my head. She spouts nonsensical pleas falling on ears that refuse- rather didn't care- to hear.

 _Don't hesitate._ I pull the red finger trigger, and the blade begins to vibrate violently.

 _rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR_

My intent was clear. No words were needed for what was to come next.

I swung the roaring metal monster in my hands down, sealing the woman's fate.

The spinning blade descends upon the woman, her choked pleas turning to gurgled screams as the leather armor she wears did little to save her. Shredding the leather armor like it didn't exist, the chainsaw eats her stomach greedily without a hint of mercy. The ravenous hunger of the metal beast turns flesh and organs alike into mincemeat.

It's the farthest thing from a clean death. Blood paints the world in dark green spots, the red muted by the green-tinted-lenses of my night vision.

The women's blood splatters the floor, covers the walls, the ceiling, everything in sight including myself and the girl. Some of the blood splatters my face through the opening in my helm.

A truly fitting end for a wretched existence. She got what she deserved. She-

The strangest sensation washes over me, it feels like… catharsis? An urge to smile is making itself known.

What? No. No, why-

I'm enjoying this?

 **I'm enjoying this.**

This is wrong. This is so wrong. Why… why am I enjoying this?

This… no… I can't be en- enjoying- I refuse to-

 _ **It's so satisfying. The look her face made as her entire petty empire crumbled around her. The face she made as she was robbed of her life, getting what she deserved.**_

-accept-

 _ **She deserves this. She's a monster. She deserves no remorse. None of them do. Those who choose to harm have made their choice. Now it's up to you to make sure they get their reward. Death. You're strong. You have the ability to make a difference. You could save the innocent.**_

…this…

 _ **You hate, hate, and hate. You hate so much, it's driven a wedge between you and your faith, widening the crack every time you feel that sickening bittersweet feel of satisfactory hatred.**_

 _ **You revel in hatred. You love the shivers it brings down your spine, the warm hunger it spreads throughout your brain. You hate yourself for it, you know it's wrong, but you can't bring yourself to stop indulging the feeling.**_

 _ **Why not put that hatred to good use, and kill those who deserve it? No one will miss them, no one worthwhile, and you'll be able to quench that feeling, even if it's only temporary.**_

I…

 _ **Above all else, you've always felt pride at being honest to yourself. No matter how uncomfortable the truth is.**_

 _ **Deep down, you know exactly what you are.**_

 _ **A bloodthirsty maniac.**_

 _RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR_

…

 _RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrr_

…

 _*Squelch*_

…

So that's how it is. Everything makes sense now.

I'm not a sociopath. I'm capable of emotions that don't consist of hatred.

I just don't feel guilt killing in self-defense or those who I see as a danger to others.

But why no guilt? Perhaps Rick's personality… no, I shouldn't use that as an excuse. Not anymore.

Is this… who I really am?

…How frightful. What possible steps could I take to amend this situation?

Suppressing it wouldn't work. It'll just come back to haunt me eventually. I'll snap at some point and things will really go downhill from there.

 _You could merely accept it._

Accept it? But that would mean I would become…

 _Well, not exactly. There's a difference in killing innocents and killing raiders. Killing raiders would be doing the world a favor, and you would likely be praised for it, not that you really care for such acknowledgment._

…But I would enjoy it. The killing.

 _*They are the scum of society. Nobody who matters would care.*_

 _*In fact, the citizens of New Vegas would probably be happy that someone is cleaning them up.*_

 _*Regardless of your thoughts on whether or not bloodlust is a good thing, could we really live with ourselves knowing that innocent people would die for your selfish desire of preserving a non-existent mindset? One that we don't truly believe in?*_

 _*Face reality.*_

 _*You want the unjust to die.*_

 _*This post-apocalyptic society wants the unjust to die.*_

 _*Both interests coincide.*_

 _*So, why don't you use those irrational feelings of hatred, that antipathy of yours and make yourself useful?*_

…

I remember. Every single scrap of information about the raiders and neer do wells in fallout.

The cages that would dangle from ceilings, often covered in blood.

The slaves of the capital wasteland.

The bloodied corpses of innocent people scattered in raider dungeons.

The Pitt.

Nuka World.

Everything here is a reality.

It is in human nature to be violent. It is human nature to be cruel. It is human nature to place yourself before others.

Society serves as the tool to mask our destructive tendencies. It dangles a reward as incentive to treat your fellow humans with dignity and respect, and to not stab them in the neck as a result of a petty disagreement.

Pacifists truly are a gift from above. For no such human could occur naturally like that. A freak of nature.

We are too violent for our own good. Perhaps we deserve to go extinct.

But the wasteland is lawless. Raiders can do whatever they please.

Just like this girl who sits in front of me, shackled to wall, staring up at me with unseeing eyes.

I reach a bloodied gauntlet out to her cheek to brush a strand of what little hair remains on her head. She doesn't react to my touch, just continues to look at me with a thousand yard stare.

She's not dead, still alive in body, but dead in spirit. To escape the pain, she's stopped thinking. Stopped feeling. Right now she's… just a shell of a human being. A broken doll. Fragile.

Unresponsive.

Not alive.

That's another thing about society. Fear of repercussions. Fear of being punished. Being surrounded by peers in society instills a feeling of needing to fit in in order to prevent being ostracized. Society suppresses the primal, self-destructive instincts of humanity. We need society to improve and progress as a species.

I could say more, much more, but I've got the point across in my head.

My logic is flawed, no doubt. I'm no philosopher. I don't sit on my ass all day, pondering the universe and how we all fit into the bigger picture. I'm sure, if anyone is reading my thoughts, there are numerous holes that can be poked into my perspective of the true nature of human beings and the role society plays.

I am a jaded individual, unable to see the bigger picture because I am unable to let go of my hatred for those who harm.

But that's alright. As long as I do what I think is right, that's enough for me.

This isn't a civilized world. People here don't care about philosophy, they care only for survival.

What a pity.

So… I'll make that my focus. A light that shines bright in the darkness, guiding me as I drift amongst my path of violence.

A future for mankind. So that we may restore the construct of civilization, and bring about a world similar to the one I originated from. Where arguments are settled with words, and the sword is the last resort.

Then… I might have something to redeem myself with, when this is all said and done.

I reach for a cloth on my person and wipe some of the blood off the girl's face with the unbloodied side. Those cuts are going to need treatment.

They'll likely scar.

Yes… being part of a brighter future sounds nice, for someone as disgusting as myself.

If the human species refuses to be civilized, then I'll just have to drag them into society, kicking and screaming if I must. But for now, raiders and their like need a boogeyman to remind them that they can't just do as they please. If they need a reason to behave, well…

They'll get one.

 _A quiet chuckling breaks the silence of the subway tunnel. It gets progressively louder and eventually breaks into full blown laughter._

 _It is not a kind laugh. It is one that promises bloodshed and atrocity, one that strikes fear into the hearts of mortal men._

 _The laugh of a madman._

 _This continues for a minute. Then, it slowly tapers down as the man regains control of his errant emotions._

"Ahhhhh…"

" **I'll kill all of them."**

 _The man's grin widens, turning into an insane-worthy smile. The green light emitted from his eyes reflects ominously of the blood._

" **Every last one."**

 _Reaching down, he grabs the still-warm corpse of the pink haired women with both hands by the neck and hoists her up, as if choking her._

" **No matter how long it takes, or even if it's achievable."**

 _He brings the mutilated raider close to his face at eye level, staring into the blank eyes of the newly dead. The man sneers at her corpse, cursing it to damnation. Something more is needed. An oath._

" **For the greater good, let's make a monster worth fearing."**

 _He will slaughter all of them. A crusade of vengeful fury. Men and women, old and young, anyone who falls under the jurisdiction of "raider" will suffer greatly by his own two hands._

 _He swears it._

 _Satisfied with his message, the man drops the body unceremoniously and turns to attend to the needs of the raider's victim. Smashing the chains, he reaches for the broken shell of the teenage girl that sits before him. Silently, he apologizes he wasn't quick enough to save her. But for now, he promises to make sure the rest of her time spent on earth will be free of pain._

 _It's the most he can do._

 _The eyebot stares incomprehensibly. For all the emotion and personality it possesses, it lacks the ability to morally evaluate the situation, and is henceforth unable to pass judgement on what has just transpired._

 _And thus, "Ricksaw" was born that night, amid a grisly scene of blood and violence._

* * *

 _Elsewhere…_

 _It was a full moon. The moonlight washed over the desert, giving it an almost tranquil look. In the far off distance, the lights of New Vegas glittered, serving as a light shining in the darkness amongst a sea of sand and dirt. At that moment, New Vegas looked every part the jewel in the desert it promised itself to be, a place of good fortunes and civilized society._

 _But alas, appearances can be deceiving, as not everything was as peaceful as the night promised itself to be. On a hill near the town of what was known as Goodsprings, an unfortunate courier would be getting a stroke of bad luck in a delivery gone wrong._

A person lay on the dirt, hands and feet bound by rope. She lay comatose, until stirred by the sounds of dirt being shoveled and angry voices.

"You got what you were after, so pay up!"

Her vision slowly faded from black as she reflexively struggled with the binds on her hands to no avail.

"You're crying in the rain, pally."

Slowly, she looked up. There were six men. One was digging what appeared to be some kind of hole with a shovel, the other five standing around waiting for something. Five of them looked like they were part of a gang due to their matching vests, with the last one dressed up in a suit. A checkered suit, just like that incredibly vague note had warned her. One of the thugs holding a shovel noticed her return to the realm of consciousness. He smirked at her.

"Guess who's waking up over here?"

The women swore under her breath, cursing herself for not taking the note more seriously. If she survived this, she would find out whoever wrote that-

The apparent leader of the men who ambushed her gave her a brief glance. He sighed, blowing a final trail of smoke from the cigarette in his mouth before dropping it and putting it out with his foot. He turned from the action and began to walk towards her.

"Time to cash out."

This apparently wasn't fast enough for the man who had spoken earlier, his ethnicity black. He exaggeratedly stuck out his arms and complained to the suited man.

"Would you get it over with?"

A hint of annoyance crossed the checkered man's face and he stuck a hand with his pointer finger up in a "hold on" gesture, shaking it side-to-side for emphasis as he spoke.

"Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?"

He put his hand down and reached into his vest, pulling out the platinum chip she had been tasked with carrying. He held it up like a prize, the light from the nearby lantern reflecting off the shiny surface of the chip.

"You've made your last delivery kid." The woman scowled at the man, but remained silent.

 _Jewel of the Desert…_

 _New Vegas. This guy's from New Vegas._

 _Part of a gang? No, too well dressed…_

The woman's eyes flashed with realization. The forced accent, the garish suit, the smug attitude. It could only be…

 _Chairman. What would one of the casinos want with-?_

"Sorry you got twisted up in this scene." The man put the chip back in his vest and when he pulled his hand back out, a pistol was in his hand, flourished in an overdramatic fashion. The gun itself looked ornamental, more like it belonged on a wall rather than be used as a weapon.

"From where you're kneeling it must seem like an 18-carat run of bad luck." The checkered man looked at the gun as he spoke. An ominous _click_ signified the hammer of the gun being pulled back. The man looked up from the gun and at her directly, not breaking eye contact.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

The women's breaths became labored, realization at what was about to happen. Her eyes darted to the hole the man with the shovel dug earlier.

 _It's not a hole, it's a grave._

 _My grave._

"Truth is...the game was rigged from the start." He pointed the gun at her face.

 _NONONONONONONO-_

 _ **BANG**_

The gun barrel flashed, and darkness claimed the woman's vision.

* * *

 **[Make sure you read all the text below this message** **closely** **, it's important…]**

 **And thus, the self-insert's gradual descent into madness can finally begin. What, you thought this would be a "normal" goody-two-shoes si? Sorry to crush your hopes and dreams. Not really. I'd be lying if said I was.**

 **There's too many "good guy/girl" self inserts out there. Most self inserts have at worst extremely minor faults such as being slightly narcissistic or inconsiderate of others, or certain character flaws that aren't really that big of a deal in hindsight.**

 **What better way than to give a middle finger to that trope by making our protagonist have the teeny-tiny issue of becoming utterly psychotic at the drop of a hat?**

 **Before commenting, please remember that** **this is fiction** **and the self-insert, while based off my personality and life experiences, is** **extremely exaggerated** **. Emphasis on exaggerated. I am nowhere near that homicidal in real life.**

 **If things like this are too much for you too bad, it's here to stay. That being said however, moments like this aren't going to come out of the blue and you'll have plenty of warning to stomach yourself for a proper shitshow. If you're rather uncomfortable with the turn this fic has just taken, lay your fears to rest. These… segments will pop up now and again, but they won't take over the whole fanfic.**

 **Don't worry, I'm not about to go full edgelord on you, there'll still be plenty of shits and giggles moments. There was a humor tag on this last I checked…**

 **So, let me be perfectly clear. This fic will have its dark moments. The self-insert is an antihero, expect horrific atrocities committed in the future. No promises at a happy ending for everyone.**

 **Now, time to justify the violence to come in the future to my dear audience so I don't scare them away…**

 **Taking away all the sparkles and rainbows and just the absurdity of some aspects of the fallout-verse, the world of Fallout is a rather cruel place. Death, murders, and similar things are so commonplace, yet most of us just brush it off and ignore it because of how desensitized we are due to how much of it there is. We come to associate it as the "norm".**

 **Well guess what audience. It isn't normal or the "norm", it's actually rather horrifying once you strip back that protective layer of gamer apathy. So strap yourselves in tight for a realistic and brutal interpretation of Fallout-verse, it's going to be a bumpy ride…**

 **Profile**

 **Name: Rick[saw]**

 **Level: 15**

 **Title: Vegas Legend**

 **Karma: Good**

 **Perks**

 **Adamantium Skeleton**

 **Animal Control (Rank 2)**

 **Bionic Eyes**

 **Bug Stomper (Rank 2)**

 **Built to Destroy**

 **Comprehension**

 **Day Tripper**

 **Fast Metabolism**

 **Finesse**

 **Hot Blooded**

 **Intensive Training (Rank 4)**

 **Life Giver**

 **Lord Death (Rank 1)**

 **Mad Bomber**

 **Melee Hacker (Rank 1)**

 **Stonewall**

 **Super Slam**

 **Toughness (Rank 2)**

 **S.P.E.C.I.A.L**

 **Strength – 8**

 **Perception – 7**

 **Endurance – 8**

 **Charisma – 1**

 **Intelligence – 10**

 **Agility – 5**

 **Luck – 5**

 **Skills**

 **Barter - 11**

 **Energy Weapons - 25**

 **Explosives - 45**

 **Guns - 23**

 **Lockpick - 75**

 **Medicine - 36**

 **Melee Weapons - 65**

 **Repair - 60**

 **Science - 45**

 **Sneak - 45**

 **Speech - 35**

 **Survival - 40**

 **Unarmed - 45**

 **Faction Reputations**

 **Brotherhood of Steel (NVC): Fugitive**

 **Goodsprings: Liked**

 **NCR: Neutral**

 **Novac: Neutral**

 **Primm: Accepted**

 **Powder Gangers: Vilified**

 **Edited 4/10/2019.**


	9. Chapter 9

**YOU THOUGHT THIS FIC WAS DEAD, BUT IT WAS ME, A WILD UPDATE!**

 **Goddamn, I blinked once and over half a year went by. My update schedule is really slipping, huh…**

 **Well… uh… happy 2018… I guess?**

 **I… I really didn't mean to be gone for 7 months without an update. If anything, this chapter should have been published in March or April. Things just kept getting in the way of writing by college, IRL stuff, and my job. Plus that writer's block I had a few months back. And I also got hooked on a Skyrim binge for the umpteenth time…**

 **But I finally published the damn chapter, so go me.**

 **Now that we have that out of the way…**

 **Being honest, I wasn't exactly sure what kind of reception I'd get from last chapter. Sure, I've been hinting at the whole Ricksaw thing since chapters 1 and 4, hell I practically told you at the end of chapter 4, but I wasn't sure if any of you thought I'd actually be going** **that** **far. Self-insert fics rarely ever get this morally ambiguous. Luckily, it seems for the most part the large majority of you are cool with it.**

 **Nice. That makes my life a whole lot easier.**

 **KSt0ne: Maybe, maybe not. Throwing another SI into the mix has the possibility of going greatly, or ending horribly. I know there are people out there who don't like multiple self inserts thrown in one fanfic, so we'll have to see. I've never been particularly crazy about it, but if you guys really, really, really want another SI in here and make a big huff about it, I may consider it. As of this moment, I don't really have any plans for another SI joining the fray in the Mojave Wasteland.**

 **Hitler's Mustache:** ** _CRAWLING IN MY SKINNNNNN, THESE WOUNDSSSS THEY WILLLLLL NOT HEALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL_**

 **At least the SI attempted to justify himself and provide a logical argument, not just go "murder is cool as long as it's baddies mmmkay". And really, just slapping the label "edgy" on something because it's dark and whatnot is kind of a disservice to the work in question. Not saying that my fic is the best out there and isn't worthy of criticism (because it totally is), but the term "edgy" has just become… insulting.**

 **To be fair, I did speed the whole Ricksaw mindset transition thingy up ahead of schedule (Originally I was going to wait a little longer before transitioning the SI into it), but there just wasn't time to fit it in later.**

 **ShiggyDiggered: Just a reminder, this SI hails from our world, where such things like mass genocide, even if the people getting it deserve it, are considered taboo in our society. Since the SI hails from a much nicer place than the world of Fallout, he's got a unique perspective on life that's different from anyone else in Fallout-verse (except maybe the Sole Survivor). The SI is ashamed of himself for giving into his baser emotions of bloodthirst and violence. He knows that it's a bad thing to crave bloodshed, no matter the recipient. The SI** **needs** **to justify it to himself. The main reason why he did is because he's afraid of ending up like the people from the stories he's read who went down a similar path he's about to. As for the skeleton part well… admittedly not my finest work, but it's necessary for the story.**

 **JKBaller: Currently, my update schedule is atrocious. Believe me, I'd love to update faster. Unfortunately, I'm in college (and have a job), plus my motivation to write has a habit of running away and abandoning me without warning at the worst possible moment. I know where I'm going with this story, but sitting down and putting my thoughts to words doesn't come easy at times.**

 **That being said, I do intend to finish this… eventually.**

 **Might take a few years.**

 **10000+ words. Barely.**

Chapter 9 – Master Plan

* * *

You know, I've never really cooked before in my life. Sure, I've worked in a fast food setting where you prepare the food for the customers, but all that shit's simplified to the point where any idiot with hands can do the job. This is different, and I do feel a tad bit out of my depth here.

Still, given the recent chaos of my life in the past couple weeks, the act of cooking is by far a tame comparison as opposed to the recent norm of hacking and slashing my way through the wasteland. Definitely easier by a wide margin.

With one last push with my knife, I finish cutting the third and final piece of gecko meat I'm using for tonight's dinner. Taking the cutting board and tilting it, I scrape the cut up pieces of gecko meat into a pot full of sizzling water.

It's been roughly five hours since my episode. Or "epiphany", if we want to get cute about it.

I've just about finished making peace with it. It feels oddly nice to, after all those years of denial, finally admit the fact that I like inflicting violence upon the… unjust. Need a better word for that. I'd rather not commit my actions under the pretense of religious zeal.

No, my actions are my own, and I will not shy away from bearing the consequences by pointing fingers and justifying it by means other than my own agenda. Reap what you sow, all that drivel.

I know I said I would kill all the raiders, although If I'm being honest to myself I wasn't exactly in a right state of mind a few hours ago, when I went berserk. I'm not blind, I don't know what but something happened when I looked at that raider. I got really, really angry out of nowhere and I- I well.

Well okay, maybe not out of nowhere. Seeing a defenseless and broken girl being beaten down would at the very least trigger a bit of anger from the average person. But it was very… unusual, what I felt.

Anger, hatred, bloodlust… followed by a period of mania, and then satisfaction. I never used to get that angry except on very rare occasions, and I have a long fuse followed by an extremely short period of genuine anger which usually subsides in a few minutes. What I felt was practically oozing in excess, emotions of the negative variety, if I had to attempt to describe it in words.

Could it be something related to my Gamer ability, like a, a…

Perk?

That's not a good indication to the wellbeing of my mental health, if I have a personal perk that lets me experience euphoria in the blood spilling of others. Definite red flags there.

Maybe it might have something to do with Rick? I still don't even know who he was, aside from the fact he seemed to be antisocial. Hell, I don't even know if he's actually gone. He could just be sleeping in my subconscious or something.

…Jesus, I hope I'm not going to black out at some point and have to fight him for control in our shared mindscape later on. That seems typical for a badly written self-insert fanfic. Bonus points if he has an evil inverted version of my personality and morals.

You know what, I bet my nonexistent hat that's definitely going to happen at some point. Calling it now. But it's probably not Rick given that this seems suspiciously tailored to me and my problems.

There's nothing I can really do about this, so I'll just have to wait and see if this supposed "perk" shows up in the pimp boy, assuming the thing works like it did in-game. Or would I have to look at the Courier's pip-boy? And will she experience pop-ups from me and other companions joining her party?

That's going to be "fun" to explain to Hannah if she gets the [The Gamer] ability and isn't a fellow SI like me, but a normal fallout-verse wastelander. I'd rather not open that can of worms unless I absolutely have to.

Anyway, I'm getting wrapped up in my own problems, and that's not something I should be doing right now. Because, I am currently playing caretaker for that girl I found. After I smashed her chains earlier, I managed to get her to stand up on her own two feet with me supporting her. Right now she's extremely weak and suffering from malnutrition, but that wasn't much of a surprise to be honest.

Using a bit of persuasion and gentle pushing, I've managed to move her to a room with a very nice bed, complete with a duvet. Probably belonged to that raider bitch I killed a few hours prior. Good riddance.

Back to the cooking thing I'm doing right now, I am trying my hardest to successfully create soup, edible soup for the first time. Yes, truly the pinnacle of trials and tribulations, no? Which is… not as difficult as I thought it would be, given that I've only done something this complex involving cooking just once before in my life. Might be the gamer bullshit working its magic.

I miss fast food. Sure it was bad for you, but it tasted **so good**.

Why I'm even bothering to go through the trouble of making soup and not just force-feeding her bits of gecko meat is that when I went over her wounds earlier, it turns out her jaw is broken. Plus, she's missing some of her front teeth.

I can't do anything about that, don't have the proper medical know-how or skill, so she's just going to have to bear with it for now. Not that I think she notices too much, if at all. Can't take her to Doc Mitchell or the Followers, seeing as right now she's in no condition to be traveling anywhere, especially a desert. She wouldn't survive the trip.

Plus the only "doctor" that's nearby is… Ada Straus, and I'm pretty sure I'm more qualified to be a doctor than that crackpot will ever be.

Radscorpion poison as a treatment… just… no.

I just need one more thing for the soup. Most of the stuff I've put in there is bits of corn and gecko meat cut into small pieces. Since my survival skill isn't that high, about half the meats sitting in my inventory I can't interact with except for the crap ton of gecko steaks I possess.

In hindsight, I might have ruined the local ecosystem surrounding Goodsprings. Whoopsies.

Worst comes to worst, I can probably ask Red Lucy for help with breeding the damn things back from oblivion into the hills of Goodsprings. I'll probably need to pay her a pretty penny (shiny bottle cap?) to do it though.

Let's see… I remember seeing a refrigerator earlier… where is… ah, here it is.

Sadly, the refrigerator isn't powered, which means I can't bask in the glorious wonder that is cold air. Aw man. The fucking desert blows.

Hmm… not a whole lot in here. No spices of any sort, just some jalapeño peppers and some pinto beans.

There's also your standard decapitated head on the shelf that's at eye level, so when you open the door it stares into your soul. The rotting head's missing its left eyeball, if you were curious.

Typical raider (cannibal?) humor. And unsanitary.

Reaching over to a nearby counter and slipping one of my gauntlets on, I grab what little hair is left on the head and remove the thing from its perch. Taking a moment, I marvel at the fact that I'm holding an actual human head. Something that holds the brain, the organ that controls everything in our body and shapes our actions via chemical reactions and neuron firing. Something that makes us what we are.

Suddenly feeling quite disturbed, I place the head on another counter away from all the food, facing away from me.

Now that I'm thinking about it, this pretty much shows how much I've changed over the past few weeks. Back then, something like this would have made me lose whatever was in my stomach. Now, I barely even blink when it comes to seeing gore. Guess I've finally become desensitized. Hoo-rah.

When I realized that the girl wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, I started the rather unpleasant task of moving all the corpses outside so they don't begin to stink up the tunnel. I'll take the head and go put it in the corpse pile outside the tunnel when I'm done serving what is a combination of dinner and 4am breakfast.

Given the fact I don't really have the time or patience, I'm not giving them the dignity of being buried in a mass grave. The corpses of both victims and raiders are going to be burned instead.

In my defense, there's a lot to do and I'm just one man. Eddy has no hands and thus has been assigned baby-sitting duty to make sure the girl doesn't somehow leave her room and wander off while I'm in another room doing things. Given her state I don't think she's in any condition to move, but I wouldn't want her to set off all those hidden frag mines I put near the tunnel entrance. All twenty-six of them.

I don't even remember where I got that many, to be honest. I guess hoarding pays off eventually.

Taking the gauntlet back off, I take the food that's actually edible out of the fridge and begin chopping up all the jalapeño peppers into small pieces. Finishing a minute later, I scrape it into the pot of boiling water alongside the pinto beans.

Let's hope this tastes alright.

I do (not) apologize if this isn't exciting for you to watch. Truly, I exist only for your entertainment and enjoyment. So sorry I'm not doing my job properly.

Please, my omnipresent stalkers, have mercy upon me.

Ugh. I'm still talking to myself after all this time. It's gone beyond a simple coping mechanism now, it's turned into an outright obsession. At this rate, I'll actually begin to hear voices in my head and hold conversations with them.

Perhaps I should still be considering having a possible medical examination with Doctor Usanagi.

Oh well. Imaginary friends are better than no friends, amirite?

After stirring the pot for a couple minutes, I take a sample of the soup I've been making for the past forty-ish minutes and give it a taste test.

Well… I wouldn't call it great… but it doesn't taste horrible either, so that's a win in my book. Reaching underneath the pot, I turn the dial on the flamer pistol I've been using to boil the water for my soup all the way down to "off".

Flamer pistols. Exactly what they sound like, a miniature, pistol-sized flamethrower. Very portable, as you would imagine. They also serve as a great campfire alternative in a pinch. I took the thing off one of the dead raiders.

I've held it in place by making a sad looking contraption made out of pieces of scrap metal, two pipes, and pieces of duct tape and wire. The thing clamps onto a nearby table edge and has two bits of jutting metal that wrap around the handle of the flamer pistol and hold it upwards. Looks like I can get more use out of my repair skill than you could in the game.

Picking the pot up by the handles, I carry it down the hall, then down a flight of stairs, across one of the multiple subway tunnels, and finally through a series of small rooms.

This place is big and not very evenly spaced, probably because it wasn't built to be a residence in the first place. Most of the doors in this place are missing, and instead very filthy looking curtains have been put up at most of the room entries to give a sense of privacy.

Pushing my shoulder against the rotting husk of one of the few doors still present in the tunnel, I reach my destination.

The girl is fast asleep in the bed I put her in. Which is good, because sleep is probably the best thing her body needs right now. Eddy has perched himself on top of a bookshelf nearby. As I walk in, his thrusters activate and he hovers himself off the shelf. Walking past him, I set the pot of stew down on a nearby lightly stained white table.

Reaching a hand out, I gently shake the girl awake. Her eyes snap open and wander slightly with an unfocused gaze, before focusing on me. Reaching over, I slowly coax her into a sitting upright position.

If I hadn't spent the time actually tending to her wounds a couple hours earlier, I might have been unnerved at the blank look in her eyes. To avoid getting her open scars more infected than they already were, I had to treat her wounds and wash all the dried blood and dirt off her from what was likely months of beatings and probably worse.

 _So what?_ I hear you say.

In case you have somehow forgotten a very important detail, let me spell it out for you.

To get to her wounds, I needed to remove the dirty rags soaked with sweat and blood that were her clothes.

I am male.

She is female.

What else was I supposed to do? Let her rot in her own filth?

I'm not a prude or squeamish about naked bodies, but it was, hands-down, one of the most uncomfortable experiences of my life. It was made even worse by the fact she didn't even resist my reluctant removal of her rags, and while I did my best not to look directly at her nude form while I was treating her wounds and wiping her down with a wet towel, she stared at me with that blank look the entire time.

Thankfully, there wasn't a huge age difference between the two of us, because that would have made the entire situation worse. I'm roughly a young adult in terms of my actual age, but Rick's body is definitely older than I am. Only by like a few years however, maybe four or five. The girl's like fifteen or a bit older, if I had to guess, looking at her body.

At least mentally I'm a young adult and not an older man like this body suggests. Rick looks like he's in his late-twenties early thirties.

To give you all the benefit of the doubt, the experience was not sexual in the slightest. Really, I mean it. Not only would it be really fucked up, but she was absolutely covered in bruises and badly healed scars (some were even bleeding) under those rags. I doubt she'll ever be able to wear any clothes comfortably in the future without feeling extremely itchy.

Forgive my crudeness, but it's kind of hard to get turned on by that kind of thing. Unless you're into that sort of thing, which in that case you need help. Lots of help. Plus my fist in your face.

Now that she's fully awake and up, I slowly reach my hand over to brush away what little hair she has left so I can check her bruises. Ah, good. In what was a short span of several hours, the bruises look much better, and have started to fade slightly. It's amazing what fallout medicine is capable of. I also took the chance earlier to inject her with a small dose of Med-X and a single tablet of Buffout. I don't fancy staying here for a week.

If only my world had this sort of technology…

Eh, it's probably for the best we didn't. Because we would definitely abuse the hell of it for wars and the like.

Satisfied with my examination, I proceed to get her out of the bed. Don't worry, she's dressed. Before I let her drift off to sleep hours prior, I made sure she was wearing actual clothes, mainly a t-shirt and the essentials.

Taking a (washed) spoon I found in the kitchen, I place it into her hand and make her wrap her fingers around it. Removing my hand, she manages to hold it without letting go. I then place a bowl of soup in her lap.

"Eat."

The girl sits there, staring blankly at the soup I had placed down in front of her. She then looks back up at me with that stare of hers.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I grunt.

"I can and will force-feed you if necessary, girl. Eat the soup."

Now what exactly I'm trying to do by making her feed herself, is to see if I can determine how much of a person is left in there. From prior observation, she was actually able to move on her own, granted it wasn't very far before she collapsed and more along the lines of mindless wandering, but she did move. Which is the reason why I'm having Eddy watch her.

However, the girl didn't react to me undressing her in the slightest. Possibly the result of being raped in the past and she didn't resist because of not wanting to be hurt. Don't have enough information or actual experience in this sort of thing yet to decide. Maybe if I raise my medicine skill…?

Hmm… she's still not doing anything… maybe needs a bit of prompting.

Pouring myself a bowl of soup, I take my own spoon and slowly begin to eat with exaggerated motions while looking at my charge expectantly. A minute passes with no result.

I sigh. I'm giving her too much credit. I guess I'll have to feed her.

I reach out my arm and pick up the spoon from her bowl. Raising it, I bring the spoon to her lips and use my hand to gently open her mouth. Putting the spoon in and closing her mouth, I suddenly realize I have no idea how to make her swallow.

Goddamit, I'll need to- wait hold on she's-

Mercifully, the girl swallows, and I sigh with relief. I was not looking forward to the prospect of having to solve that particular conundrum.

Over the next several minutes, I continue to spoon-feed her as she swallows down the soup. Her eyes are still unfocused and blank. I guess her body still has a will to live, even if she doesn't seem to be at all there. Perhaps the damage isn't as bad as I thought, and there's a possibility she might get better in the future.

Probably not.

Once I drop her off with the Followers, she won't be my problem anymore. I'm not dragging a sickly and possible braindead girl all across the **lethal** desert with me.

When I finish feeding her, I turn to my own bowl of soup and eat it, watching Eddy as he beeps at the unresponsive girl. I'd give her a name or something, but my naming skills are being rather uncooperative as of this moment. Perhaps another time.

I put my empty soup bowl down. I'll need to wait for at least a couple days, maybe two or three, before I want to risk moving her to a more appropriate doctor. I turn my head towards Eddy.

"Continue watching her. Defend her. Make sure she doesn't leave the tunnel. Find me if there's any problems, I'll be nearby."

Eddy beeps an affirmative.

The tunnel is essentially a giant dead end with the girl at the end of it, so there isn't too much trouble the girl can get into. I've already removed all forms of sharp objects and weapons from the surrounding area, and to get out of the tunnel, she'll need to shamble past the room I'll be in. Besides, someone that malnourished and injured isn't going far, no matter how fast she heals thanks to Fallout medicine.

Plus, Eddy's there, and he doesn't have a convenient off switch anywhere on his chassis, so she won't be able to disable him. I've already muttered a list of things to him earlier that she might do that would require him to come find me, including but not limited to:

If she tries to bash her head on a hard surface.

If she tries to lap up any blood in the corridor from that pink hair bitch's earlier "accident".

If she begins to have a panic attack.

And most importantly; if she needs to use the bathroom.

You get the idea.

Taking my 4d out, I materialize the pot of soup into the device so the girl can't injure herself with it. Leaving her alone with Eddy, I walk out of the room and begin searching for a certain room. I saw a mirror earlier when I was clearing this place out, and I want to get the first proper look at my appearance I've had in weeks.

After a little bit of searching, I manage to find it.

Hmm… Rick's beard has grown in the past few weeks, becoming more scruffy and long. I'll have to take a switchblade to it eventually, lest I want it become an annoyance because of my armor.

That's not going to be fun. I've never shaved with anything that wasn't electric before.

Speaking of hygiene…

To my dismay I haven't been able to find a single tube of toothpaste or toothbrush in all the time I've been here, leaving my only option to scrub my teeth with a wet washrag every night. Since that isn't obviously as good as a toothbrush, I've unfortunately gotten used to the semi- grungy feeling surrounding my teeth. I haven't even looked at my teeth for a few days.

Alright, here goes. Please, please let my teeth be okay…

Come on, let's see those pearly whiiiittaaaaatthefuccccck?!

Looking into the mirror, my own reflection of Rick's body stares back at me, mouth agape. If you would take a moment to look in said mouth, behold, the source of my woes.

My teeth are not the natural pearly white color as they should be. Instead, they are a dull **silver,** almost greyish if not for the fact that I can see my reflection in them, albeit not very well. In addition to their new coloration, the teeth have an unnatural **metallic sheen** to them, the nearby lightbulb above the mirror giving the inside of my mouth a glow similar to how light bounces off a watch.

"Metal?" I rub my thumb slightly against my teeth. Apart from saliva, it comes away relatively dry. Not any kind of mutant radioactive plaque. But then what the hell is this?! How did my teeth become-

I gasp in realization. Of course! My teeth are bones as well!

Damn, when Adamantium Skeleton said it would replace my entire skeleton, it really wasn't kidding. But if my teeth have become this sort of… metal, does that mean they've become tougher?

I should probably test this.

Few minutes later, I start off small, with bits of easily chewable food, eventually moving up to the harder consumables, like an entire corn on the cob (inedible part included) and chewier bits of various meats, both cooked and raw. My impromptu cuisine ends with me ripping off a piece of raw mole rat meat (very chewy and hard when raw) with my teeth effortlessly. Chewing it slightly, I spit the piece out.

Definitely tougher. Sharper, too. I could probably cut my finger on these if I wanted to.

Forcing my lips to twitch into a smile I grin with my teeth, and flinch at my own reflection.

I look utterly terrifying. Definitely slasher film worthy. Rick is definitely not a smiley type, not with that mug.

Well, it's a good thing I don't normally smile with my teeth.

And now, I never will.

Hmm. I might as well see if these adamantium teeth are stronger than the average as well. Taking a piece of scrap metal lying on the sink, I wash it a bit under the tap. Then putting it in my mouth and slowly applying pressure-

I hope I don't mess up my jaw doing this.

-I bite down, gradually increasing the power behind my chomp. I can feel the metal flattening under the pressure, the piece widening in my mouth as it becomes larger. I take the piece out and stare at it.

Yup, definitely stronger. Looks like the perk effect is applied to every bone in my body, regardless of placement. Nice to see that enduring that pain wasn't for naught. I guess I also don't need to worry about my teeth ever rotting, so that's a plus.

I just hope I don't get into a situation where I need to bite someone or something. Whatever or whoever it is, it probably won't bode well for my poor taste buds.

Taking a moment to check myself for any other unpleasant body modifications, I find none, bar my eyes which lack pupils. Oh right, I never did tell you guys about that.

When I replaced my eyes with cybernetics, it turns out that my new ones don't have pupils, and are now a brown-blackish color when "off". Not very noticeable unless you knew what to look for. I could talk to someone up close and they probably wouldn't notice.

Now that I'm sure I'm not due for any more nasty surprises soon, I can finally get to fixing up that missile launcher I found. One of those raiders was carrying it on his shoulder, but I managed to off him before he could fire it.

Gave me one hell of a scare when I turned the corner to be greeted with **that**. I would have been fucked if it weren't for that headshot crit. But at least I finally have the firepower necessary to blast my way through a wall of super mutants to reach Raul, so maybe we can rescue him soon?

Maybe. I need to drop the girl off somewhere safe before I go trying something dangerous like that. She is my responsibility after all.

* * *

Alright. I've cleaned my armor, cleaned the chainsaw (that was unpleasant, so much gore on the chain, but no one's going to buy it if it's dirty like that), repaired the missile launcher to a working condition, made sure to account for the needs of my charge, booby-trapped the entrance, and done just about everything essential I can think of.

Stretching my back and cracking my fingers, I let out a yawn as I sit down in a nearby chair in the little room I've commandeered as my temporary base of operations. I take a moment to adjust the collar on a red button-up shirt I liberated from the dusty confines of a wardrobe in the Bison Steve Hotel.

I decided having a pair of normal clothes would be beneficial for downtime. That metal suit isn't exactly comfortable to relax in. Alongside a pair of jeans and two mismatched socks, one white and another black, this is probably the most casual I've dressed since I've ended up here. Unfortunately, I still have to use my metal boots as shoes on account of being unable to find a pair that fits me. Good thing my armor can be dismantled into individual pieces.

Turning my head to the side, my eyes glow white as I use electromagnetic vision to confirm that both Eddy and the girl haven't moved since I last checked up on them. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, I turn my eyes back to default vision and prop my arms up on the table, resting my chin on my hands.

Now it's time to do the one big thing I've been putting off for the last few hours.

The whole "killing raiders" thing.

I've established that at this point, I couldn't give less of a damn about the rights of those who hurt people, be it raping, killing, and etcetera. I've also established that I feel absolutely ecstatic as the prospect of killing them in very horrible, painful ways. And lastly, I've decided to take that feeling of being ecstatic and use it to undergo a guilt-free, self-righteous crusad- purge to rid the fair lands of the Mojave Wasteland of their disease ridden carcasses.

Now. About doing that.

I've already decided that I'll start on the areas closest to New Vegas (specifically, Freeside and Westside), and work my way outwards after I destroy the Fiends. Because the largeness of the Fiends (No thanks to AWoP, The author added like 5 or so extra locations with buffed Fiends in them) it will probably be rather difficult. That's also not accounting for the AWoP raider faction, Tech Raiders, who are basically the Fiends + Brotherhood of Steel on steroids.

So, let's first ask a question and weigh the positives and negatives.

Do I want my face known, or unknown?

If I reveal to the general public my "real" identity while committing genocide (or "war" if we want to wink-wink-nudge-nudge at Fallout's obsession with that word) upon the raiders of New Vegas, the people will likely support my actions and I will possibly get resources to help with the war effort. The Strip, The Followers, Freeside, and Westside will be totally on board with what I'm doing.

The NCR will probably have no qualms with what I'm doing, with the small possibility of some small-dick military officer getting anal that the NCR is getting showed up by one guy doing what the entire force in Camp McCarran, plus 1st recon, can't.

…

Hoo boy, I feel a rant incoming. Hold on to your pants, audience.

Ahem.

Seriously. You guys have **veteran** **snipers** who've probably killed **dozens** of legionaries and the Fiends **don't**. **Fucking use them.** The Legion are actual trained soldiers and a much bigger threat than a bunch of trigger happy junkies. You people shouldn't be struggling with killing such an insignificant threat.

Jesus Christ, I could probably do better tactics than those useless NCR commanders. It's not like there's a lack of ammunition out in the wastes. Have people scavenge shit instead of waiting for it to come for you on a silver platter. If the NCR were to put 1st recon on top of Camp McCarran's wall with some cover, they could probably kill a lot of Fiends. Maybe even snipe Viola and Driver Nephi. Cook-Cook at least has some cover in area he's sitting in via the large amount of destroyed buildings, but not sniping the other two Fiend leaders who are literally sitting out in the open is inexcusable.

But do they? Noooooooooooo-

Although, since this is real life and this world is no longer bound by the limits of a game, they might actually have fucking brains now and do smart things. Probably have the stick of democratic paperwork bullshit shoved too far up their asses to actually do any of the things I've said though.

Oh~, I can't wipe my ass because I don't have a ten page, small font report that details the strategic significance of wiping my ass so I don't ruin my pants~.

It's no wonder the NCR never accomplished anything without your help. They're so bound by paperwork that they can't get anything done without getting approval from **everyone**. It's like they took the absolute worst parts of democracy (excessive paperwork and worthless laws only made for political dick-waving) and decided to build a government on only those parts.

Democracy. The only political system that promotes paperwork, amongst other things, over actually getting the fucking job done.

Probably the worst political system for a post-apocalyptic society. Just because it worked for America, doesn't mean it'll work for the NCR. Plus they pretty much ruined it when they allowed wealth and Brahmin farmers to dictate their leaders.

Wait. That applies to the America I came from too. Not the Brahmin farmers part, but the wealth.

Damnit. At least we haven't exploded yet.

Point is, I'm probably not going to ask for help from the NCR. Problems with authority and all that. The law is only as good as the people who wield it, and the NCR are obviously lacking. They're not bad people, at least the soldiers for the most part, though I'll happily tell Yes Man to throw Oliver of the top of Hoover Dam.

Rant over. Alright. What about the Legion?

They don't really get that close to Vegas aside from that thing they did with Gloryhole Van Graff, so I probably won't have to factor them in. Probably wouldn't care anyway, given their policy on raiders/drug runners plus the fact that I'm a male.

Ah, the advantages of being a cis white male. Eat your multi-gender hearts out, SJW's.

Some joking aside, I'll probably kill them all later because they do very bad things, and I don't like people who do very bad things.

Huh.

I've just summed up my whole hate boner for raiders in one sentence.

I feel accomplished.

Okay, who else is there…?

Oh yes, the "friendly" raider faction, the Great Khans. Well, they're not really- ehh- actually they kind of are raiders. They've been shat on a lot by the time your character meets them (even if they do kind of deserve it), and everybody who plays New Vegas usually spares them and make them leave the Mojave out of pity.

Unless they do something stupid and attack the poorer parts of Vegas, I'll… probably just leave them alone. Even though they're raiders, they're not as outright "evil" as some of the other factions, and they only thing they really do aside from the occasional raiding party is fuel the drug trade. The NCR kind of deserve being attacked by them for what happened at Bitter Springs, so I'll just let the Courier deal with them. If she decides to kill all of them, that's that.

I don't hate the Great Khans, but I don't like them either.

The other nearby faction that comes to mind is Jacobstown. I've haven't even seen a mutant yet, but I'm sure I get along with Marcus and Super-Granny just fine. In-game, Jacobstown mutants seem pretty chill, and Marcus is the rare combination of Reasonable Authority Figure and All-Loving Hero. Plus he'll live for the next couple of centuries if someone doesn't off him. Definitely need to ensure his survival in the event of a genocidal Courier.

Next is the Boomers. A nonfactor, for now. They'll become a problem later for when we're deciding which factions get to live and which get to die.

Like the resident Brotherhood of Steel chapter, it's probably a better idea to kill off all the Boomers (barring the children and pregnant women) than risk them becoming a problem later on. I wouldn't usually advocate genocide of a certain group of people (except raiders, they're pure scum), but it has to do with the fact that the Boomers respond to anything they don't recognize or like by bombing the hell out of it. That severe xenophobia could very well bite Vegas in the ass later down the road.

I also don't feel very inclined to give a group of pyromaniacs an airplane that enables them to strike anywhere in the wasteland against people they don't like the look of. Best nip them in the bud when we get the chance.

This world isn't a game anymore, and these people **will** be a problem later on. Just because Pearl was reasonable (somewhat? She made you run through an artillery salvo before you could even talk to her) doesn't mean their future leaders will be. And history has a very nasty habit of repeating itself. If we are really going to pull humanity back on its feet, xenophobia of other groups is the last thing we need, lest we want another war between nations.

And boy, didn't that go well last time? Turned the entire damn planet into an irradiated rock for 200 years. Still is, in some parts.

Doesn't make the fact that completely wiping out the Boomers is morally right, far from it, but as someone probably more famous and wiser than me said, sacrifices are always needed for progress. But once again, I am getting into another discussion for later, one that can be saved for when I become acquainted with House and/or The Courier.

I really hope Hannah is a stable individual and has better social skills than I do, because otherwise I'm going to have to fuck up my S.P.E.C.I.A.L massively by giving myself a lot of Charisma points via Intensive Training.

For now, let's get back to the whole killing raiders thing. Getting help would be nice, but then I'd be establishing myself as one man, and thus only capable of being in one place at one time, which is counterproductive to being seen as an omnipresent boogeyman. From the looks of it, probably best to be an unknown hiding behind a mask.

Now, how we sell this persona is important. If I just simply walked around The Mojave killing raiders, it would achieve my desired effect of depopulating the wastes of raiders. However, it would only be temporary at best. A good majority of people who raid aren't doing it for shits and giggles, they're doing it for survival. Setting up New Vegas proper has a good chance of giving people jobs and stuff in the future so they don't turn to banditry.

No, what we need, or what this persona needs to be violent, gory, and completely over the top if we- if I wish to achieve the desired effect of halting raider growth as a whole. Which means I'm probably going to get my hands dirty and do really terrible things to my fellow human beings. I'm not opposed to doing said things, but it makes the parts of me that were (are? It's complicated) Christian writhe with shame.

Greater good, it's all for the greater good…

I hope what I'm doing will be worth it in the end. Because if it isn't, well…

Best not think too deeply on it for now. Plus, I'm pretty sure someone is dying on the inside/rolling their eyes to my angst overload right now. I've already got a couple plans in mind for operation boogeytown boogie, but I need somewhere where I can get my hands on a large amount of metal, and also where I can shape said metal into… things.

It's a secret. You'll find out later. And before you assume, no, I'm not going to crucify them. That's the Legion's thing and I'm not going the DEUS VULT route. As tempting as it would be…

Hmm… Isn't there an abandoned steel mill somewhere in Fiend territory? Yeah, I think so.

I'm going to have to find that later. I'll also need a lot of detergent, corn starch, and sugar.

My current plan as a whole is still unfinished, as I'm still working out the kinks. It'll come together in time, and I already have a good idea of who's going to serve as the metaphorical spark for my future killing spree in the areas surrounding Vegas. Now, just what exactly are we going to call this boogeyman persona?

Hrm. Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's decide on what I'm going to look like before we get to the name. My face is obviously going to be covered, and I'm already planning on using the reinforced metal armor set for my… well, armor… but what about my weapon?

I'm going for the edgy serial killer look, so it definitely has to be something "unique" instead of using something as sensible and mundane as a sniper rifle. As mesmerizing as explosions are (I should have thought about the possible effects of Mad Bomber on my psych before I took that perk) they aren't much in the way of stealth, and I'm going to be doing a lot of creeping around and scaring the pants off raiders before disemboweling them.

Disemboweling… I glance at the chainsaw I have resting on a nearby table. Hmm. It is a common horror trope for the murderer to use a chainsaw, plus the thing has an intimidation factor going for it. But- I get out of my chair and walk over to the table- how well would it perform as a weapon?

Picking up the unwieldy hunk of metal, I try swinging it with both hands. As expected, I nearly lose my balance and fall over. This thing isn't exactly balanced like a sword or fireaxe, as much as I wish it to be. I do however see a way for me to use this thing in a much more creative way than just mindlessly charging forward with it as you did in the game.

It's going to be a bitch to clean though…

You know what, that gives me an idea.

Have you guys ever heard of a little game on the wii called MadWorld?

If you have, you know exactly where I'm going with this.

Jack Cayman, I am going to shamelessly steal- I mean borrow- your weapon idea and build myself an **arm mounted** **chainsaw** if it's realistically possible to create one.

Hey man, if they can make actual laser weapons here, they can probably make something as ridiculous as Jack's weapon. Probably just need the blueprints for an Industrial Hand from Lonesome Road and make some adjustments on the placement and to replace the saw with a chainsaw blade. With my current eight strength and endurance, I could probably swing the thing more than three times without getting winded.

Not only would it be fucking badass to use, but it also gives me a free hand to carry a pistol or something while fighting.

Settled. Chainsaw weapon here we come. That just leaves the name now.

How about…

Ricksaw.

It's just "Rick" plus "chainsaw", very elementary in creativeness, but it has a nice ring to it. I like it.

But if I'm going to run around killing raiders and calling myself "Ricksaw", I can't go by the name "Rick" anymore. The correlation between the two is too obvious, so much so that even a child could figure it out. My disguise is going to be hard enough since "Ricksaw" and I share the same body-build and both of "us" use melee weapons.

Perhaps I should actually start investing more into energy weapons for my "normal" persona. And I just remembered something crucial about fallout drugs. I can actually overcome my Charisma issue rather easily. Party-time mentats give like a +5 increase to charisma. I can make my "Ricksaw" identity super charismatic while keeping my "normal" identity a grumpy loser.

Why didn't I think of this before? Better late than never I guess.

So much for keeping myself drug free. Bah, you hypocrite. I think party time mentats only have a 15% addiction rate anyway. Weekly or monthly visits to my auto-doc back in Goodsprings should keep me safe assuming I don't go overboard with the things.

But getting to the point, the name "Rick" has served me well so far for the several weeks I've been here. But whoever Rick was, that is not who I am. And in truth, I've only been referring to myself as "Rick" these past few weeks out of respect for this body's previous owner.

So, it is time I come up with a new name. A new identity.

I am fortunate Rick was a hermit. Er, I think. Let's hope that assumption doesn't bite me later on. Probably will.

Hmm. I cannot simply use my real name for… reasons… and my favorite moniker that I used to use for anything online, Neurax, is too weird of a name to be used for anything outside of an online presence. It'll draw too much attention, which isn't something I want if I'm going to be moonlighting as a mass murderer- I mean vigilante.

There are a lot of people who need to die in this game.

Let's see… uhhh… Jerry? No, that's dumb. Sawyer? No, Rick **saw**. Jonathan? Nahhh…

Alright, going into deep thought here. Play some music or something while I'm thinking.

…

Samuel?

Yeah, that could work. I want something that isn't associated with "Ricksaw", and Samuel fits the bill nicely. I should also get a last name as well.

Samuel… Winchester? No. Samuel… Eh, fuck it, just Samuel.

Samuel? Sounds nothing like any iteration of "Rick", nor my actual name.

"My name is Samuel."

Perfect. Now that's done, the only thing left to do is to decide how to handle the companions and the Courier. I don't think recruiting all the companions is necessary for a "good" ending of real-life FNV, but their combat prowess would be most appreci- I slap myself across the face.

No. I need to be thinking of them as people, not pawns to move around as I please. They are **real people** now, and I should treat them as such. Treating them like fictional characters and manipulating their emotions based on the fact that I know all their touchy points will make me what I'm trying not to become.

That being said, it's not necessarily bad to recruit them. Most of them are moping around, being miserable until you come and convince them to join you. I just need to disregard my game knowledge when it comes to talking like them and interact with them like a normal human being. Get to know them as people by experience, rather than stick to what I know from what happened in the game. Who knows, the game might not be 100% accurate when it comes to that regard.

It won't be easy. I was never the sort to let my followers die for good or kill them for fun, always reloading a save in the event of one of them bit the dust, but it's all I've ever known them as, NPCs. Fictional people.

The "conversation" I had with Cass doesn't count. I spent over 90% of the duration with her absolutely wasted. I don't even think I had a proper conversation with her once. And then there's the Courier.

When I do eventually find her, I need to walk on eggshells around her because I have no idea what kind of person she is or how much of a badass she'll be by the time we get in close proximity to each other. I want to be reasonably sure that I'm strong enough to actually kill her should the need arise. Not attacking a level 50 Courier without being max level myself and preferably having a large amount of end-game explosives at my disposal.

Hmm. Assuming she starts out at level 1, that's not actually too bad. I've stolen most of the exp surrounding the Goodsprings area and I'm pretty sure things don't respawn here by blinking out of nowhere like they did in the game. Of course, that raises the potential problem of her being too weak to actually finish the game…

Oh well. A problem for another day. Worst comes to worst I can babysit her through the Battle of Hoover Dam. If Hannah makes it to level thirty she's fine because thirty was the max level before all the DLC's came out.

I still don't know how I'm going to handle the Platinum Chip. Due to the possibility of Hannah not being a very good person, I don't feel very comfortable letting her have the chip until I can properly judge her character and faction alignment. But I also can't just waltz into The Tops and kill Benny, because the last thing I want is getting on the Courier's bad side in the event she's already at max level, assuming she's not a homicidal maniac.

Getting on her bad side is going to make gaining her trust much harder, and simply going up and telling her I'm from an alternate reality where this world is a video game has an almost nonexistent chance of working, let alone being able to prove it. Assuming she doesn't have amnesia, my only real option for convincing her is the "You blew up The Divide" card, and even then it might backfire by her saying I was just another survivor or something.

I don't understand why people who write SI's think they can pull that off, going up to a character of a series and saying they're from an alternate universe, because I doubt that a fictional character will believe they are fictional. It's just for the better I keep pretending I have no future knowledge.

Most of my information is stuff that happens in the future that directly results from the player's actions. I **could** rattle off every companion's backstory when we first meet them, but that's not really something I want to resort to unless I have to. It wouldn't endear me to any of them, given that about half of them have skeletons in their closets.

Just for memory's sake, let's make sure I correctly remember each companion's backstory. Beware, spoilers ahead.

ED-E: Neutral. Enclave eyebot. Has a cuddly counterpart in the Divide. Needed to go to Navarro because he had important information about enclave stuff (haven't triggered the audio log yet and I don't remember what it was about).

Boone: NCR. Killed a bunch of innocent civilians at Bitter Springs. Also had his wife sold into slavery and shot her as a mercy killing. Has a death wish, and is one of the reasons he agrees to travel with you, thinking he'll go down fighting.

Cass: NCR. Had her entire caravan wiped out by Crimson Caravan and Silver Rush dipshits. Drinks enough whiskey that it's a miracle that her liver hasn't given out.

Veronica: Brotherhood. Elijah's pupil and the only member of the Brotherhood of Steel aside from the Lyons family that I don't want to shoot in the face. Naïve and idealistic. Also a lesbian and likes dresses. Important note to self: give Veronica a dress at some point.

Arcade: Independent Vegas. He was born and/or a part of the Enclave. Doesn't like talking about it. He's gay, and you can be a total ass by selling him into slavery. He can get you a bunch of his old buddies to help you with The Battle of Hoover Dam.

Rex: Neutral. Cyberdog that's dying because his brain is rotting. Somehow retains his memories of you and The King despite having his brain replaced by a completely different dog's brain. Probably makes as much sense as having your brain replaced with a tesla coil in OWB and you somehow still functioning like yourself.

Raul: Caesar's Legion/Neutral. He's a "natural" ghoul, which means he exceeds over 200 years of age and lived before the Great War. Thinks he's useless because of his old age. Killed a bunch of guys all by himself for killing a… whore… who looked like his sister. You can convince him to either stay a mechanic or pick up his vaquero outfit once more to become the Clint Eastwood ghoul cowboy the wasteland needs.

Lily Bowen: Neutral. She was a granny before she got turned into a Super mutant. Now she's a super granny, and has a conundrum involving memories of her grandchildren and her meds. She also has a split personality named Leo who is basically a mindless berserker.

I have to pretend I know none of this information when conversing with them. Save for Eddy and Rex, and maybe Lily.

The Courier: Due to the nature of being a player avatar, I have no idea what kind of backstory Hannah has. The only thing I know that remains a constant is that the Courier caused The Divide to explode. That and they banged some woman down in Montana, but that bit of info doesn't apply since Hannah is female.

Shame that a male Courier isn't The Lonesome Drifter's father. Would've been a hell of a family reunion. I wonder if there's a mod or fanfiction for it somewhere…

…Oh my God. I can write a fanfiction involving Fallout New Vegas **while I'm in Fallout New Vegas**.

Does that mean its fanfiction anymore? Is it just fiction then?

Somebody play the inception foghorn.

Alright, alright. Enough playing around. Judgment on the Courier will have to wait until I get enough information, and I'll just have to tread carefully until then. And listen to the radio whenever I get an opportunity.

So… uh, now what?

 _Plans for the immediate future?_

Right. Well, as soon as I feel like the girl is stable and moving her won't kill her, I'm going to pass through Novac and make my way to that Follower's Outpost…

Oh wait. Boone.

Now that I'm thinking about it, Boone's probably got one of the most tragic backstories out of all the FNV companions. Originally, I was going to leave Boone alone for the purpose of letting the Courier have him but… again, that's treating the man like a disposable npc. And I really want that Crawford bitch dead. Women sells Boone's pregnant wife into slavery for insulting her hotel? That's a special kind of evil, one that I would happily introduce the blade of my ripper to.

Shoot. If I just gave a letter to him with the deed attached, there's no telling what would happen. I doubt Boone is going to be subtle about it if he takes matters into his own hands instead of letting the Courier quietly grab the bitch and lead her to her execution.

Going by what happens in the game, Boone is still a broken mess even after he gets justice for Carla. I get the feeling it would result in Boone having to leave Novac, with him either committing suicide or getting himself killed by the Legion for having nothing left to live for. Not a pretty picture, or the ending he deserves.

Unless I want the Courier to take care of it, I'm going to have to take Boone with me if Crawford's going to die. And I'm not just going to ignore someone so evil like that and wait for the Courier to deal with it. Shit. Recruiting Boone wasn't in the plan, but if I do need to kill Hannah, I'd rather have an ex-1st recon sniper with me than against me.

Besides, it wouldn't be right leaving someone that broken alone despite knowing I can help. I'm no therapist though. Maybe… I can get him a session with someone who can help. I'll need to build up trust with him first, though.

I'll need to rethink my approach with him. Before I put any real thought into it, I was going to stop by Novac, approach Boone anonymously and give him evidence of Jeannie May Crawford's betrayal, and leave him for the Courier. Glad I didn't. It would have turned out disastrously.

I smile.

Helping a man find purpose once more in life does sound nice. Even if it's to my own violent ends. At least I won't throw him away like trash when my time in the Mojave is done and when the time comes to expand outward to other parts of the U.S.

Assuming I live that long.

Hmm… do you think he'll be onboard with the Ricksaw idea if I plan to tell him the Legion will be included with it?

Having multiple iterations of "Ricksaw" across the continent would be most… convenient.

* * *

 **Finally. This chapter was more of an informational chapter than anything action packed. It was also supposed to come out much earlier.**

 ***shrugs* Bah, oh well.**

 **I try to update once every 3-4 months, or at least I originally did. College is starting back up again for me, and I have a regular job now. I'll try to make sure that chapter 10 doesn't take another 7-8 months like this one did, but no promises.**

 **I'm not shy to answering questions or criticisms about this fic, so PM me or leave a review if you wanna ask me anything. Keep in mind I won't give out spoilers and I prefer to have reasonable questions/criticism. I would suggest PMing me if you have anything urgent to ask me.**

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and sorry again for the long wait.**

 **Profile**

 **Name: Samuel**

 **Level: 15**

 **Title: Vegas Legend**

 **Karma: Good**

 **Perks**

 **Adamantium Skeleton**

 **Animal Control (Rank 2)**

 **Bionic Eyes**

 **Bug Stomper (Rank 2)**

 **Built to Destroy**

 **Comprehension**

 **Day Tripper**

 **Fast Metabolism**

 **Finesse**

 **Hot Blooded**

 **Intensive Training (Rank 4)**

 **Life Giver**

 **Lord Death (Rank 1)**

 **Mad Bomber**

 **Melee Hacker (Rank 1)**

 **Stonewall**

 **Super Slam**

 **Toughness (Rank 2)**

 **S.P.E.C.I.A.L**

 **Strength – 8**

 **Perception – 7**

 **Endurance – 8**

 **Charisma – 1**

 **Intelligence – 10**

 **Agility – 5**

 **Luck – 5**

 **Skills**

 **Barter - 11**

 **Energy Weapons - 25**

 **Explosives - 45**

 **Guns - 23**

 **Lockpick - 75**

 **Medicine - 36**

 **Melee Weapons - 65**

 **Repair - 60**

 **Science - 45**

 **Sneak - 45**

 **Speech - 35**

 **Survival - 40**

 **Unarmed - 45**

 **Faction Reputations**

 **Brotherhood of Steel (NVC): Fugitive**

 **Goodsprings: Liked**

 **NCR: Neutral**

 **Novac: Neutral**

 **Primm: Accepted**

 **Powder Gangers: Vilified**

 **Edited 4/10/2019.**


	10. Chapter 10

**GAAHHH, I'M AN HOUR OVER FEB 1ST! I FEEL LIKE SHIT FOR NOT MAKING MY ASSIGNED PUBLISH DATE! THIS IS WHY I DON'T PROMISE ANYTHING! CURSE MY PROCRASTINATING ASS!**

 **Well, finally I'm done. I'm never promising anything ever again in regards to publishing dates. It happens when it happens.**

 **But first, a complementary rant from yours truly on Fallout 76.**

 **I originally wrote this back in November (or was it December?) of 2018, so it's probably not be up to date and might seem a bit stale by now. But I'm keeping it in anyway. If you don't want to read it, look for Press F for Elder Scrolls 6 because that's where it ends. Anyway, here it is.**

 **Oh, and not that I really give two shits if you get triggered, but this rant contains *gasp* MY OWN OPINION. That's right, fear me peasants! For I am above the group think of mainstream idiots and... ugh, it's late, I'm tired, just read the damn thing if you want...**

 **Fallout 76 has been released, and New Vegas still reins king.**

 **Let's face it, Fallout 76 sucks ass. I'm sure you've all heard about blah how Bethesda sucks even more than it did before, and the whole canvas bag & nuka rum fiasco. But I need to say my piece on why this thing sucks a big black cock.**

 **You can't play Fallout 76 offline. Which is funny, because Bethesda targeted an advertisement at EA for mocking them for not having single player games. And then they pull this. What a bunch of hypocrites.**

 **I'm sure all of you know by now about how I think New Vegas is the best Fallout game that currently exists, but these past installments are just plain inferior.**

 **Fallout 1 & 2 are pretty good, if a bit dated and clunky. I haven't had as much experience with them or any of the other non-main fallout games like Tactics, ect. Recently I got them for Christmas. They were alright, but I just couldn't really connect with them like I did with New Vegas. I guess I'm more attuned to 3d environments when it comes to Fallout games.**

 **If I had enough time on my hands how to optimize Fallout 3 to run on my windows 8 pc, I probably would play it. I've heard it suffers a bit too much from a nonexistent aiming system and black and white morality, plus the dialogue options for the Lone Wanderer suck.**

 **Fallout New Vegas was made from the same engine of Fallout 3, and has better writing, gameplay and roleplay features. Plus, Bethesda sabotaged New Vegas's creation, giving Obsidian little time to work on it (only 18 months) so they could point their fingers and say that no one else could make a better Fallout than Fallout 3.**

 **Then Fallout New Vegas was released, and it blew 3 out of the water.**

 **Bethesda doesn't let third parties work on Fallout games anymore.**

 **I can't play Fallout 4 because my pc is a piece of junk, but I've seen enough videos on it to be relatively familiar with the game and how it works. Fallout 4 features a shitty voiced protagonist, almost every quest is a "go here, kill this", and a terrible plot. If Ricksaw ever meets the Sole Survivor and they try to use a sarcasm or a "give me money" dialogue option on him, Ricksaw is going to punch them in the face as hard as he can with a ballistic fist.**

 **And then there's Fallout 76. Hoo boy, where do I even start with this?**

 **Fallout 76 breaks lore more than 4 did (Super mutants shouldn't even exist yet), no npc's, a player base that will probably become very toxic and be Rust 2.0, no single player, the game uninstalls itself frequently (which is probably for the better), launching 3 nukes crashes the server, overall making it an huge disappointment.**

 **Clearly, Fallout 76 is just a cash grab. Multiplayer doesn't matter if it's the only thing the game has going for it. It's basically just a shitty(er) Fallout 4.**

 **Even before 76 was released, people were still iffy about it. I mean, Fallout isn't really a franchise that was designed for multiplayer, and everyone knows how disappointing Elder Scrolls Online was (but at least Elder Scrolls Online eventually became a great game of its own). Fallout Miami, a community mod for Fallout 4, got more HYPE than Fallout 76.**

 **If we're ever going to get a good Fallout game again, Bethesda either needs to lose the rights to the Fallout franchise to a video game company that actually cares about quality and its fan base, or they let Obsidian do the writing and the programming for the next game. Even if the people who made Fallout New Vegas no longer work at Obsidian, I bet the company could still do better than Bethesda.**

 **Because at the rate Bethesda is going, they're rapidly turning into the next EA.**

 **AND ALSO, THE FINAL FUCKING BOSS OF FALLOUT 76 IS A RETEXTURED DRAGON FROM FUCKING SKYRIM! SKYRIM! THE GAME THAT BETHESDA HAS BEEN BEATING LIKE A DEAD HORSE FOR THE PAST 8 YEARS! AND THEY PUT A COMMON ENEMY IN AS THE FINAL BOSS!**

 **I can't believe how quick Bethesda lost all their goodwill from consumers with this release of such a putrid garbage pile of rhinoceros dung. It makes Fallout 4 look like a fucking masterpiece in comparison, and you all know how much I hate Fallout 4. And this came from a triple AAA company. The fuck up that was No Man's Sky was understandable in hindsight, they had a small development team and they were forced by Sony and consumer pressure to release it early. Bethesda, a massive corporation that definitely has the time and resources to make this something worth playing, has none of those excuses. They are fucking lazy and have grown too reliant on the modding community to clean up their messes.**

 **That or Todd Howard intentionally sabotaged Fallout 76 so he would never have to make a multiplayer game again. But that's just a theory, an industry the-**

 **Man, I remember when Game Theory used to be good. I actually used to respect Matpat, before he decided that he cared more about making money than making a well-structured video. I still remember the creeping disappointment I felt as I watched the quality of his videos slowly turn from gold to shit. Then when Matpat decided to stick his dick in the cancer that was FnaF and rape it for all it was worth with shitty, clickbait videos intended for children, I turned my back on him. But we're getting off topic.**

 **I only have one more thing to say about this whole shebang.**

 **STOP PREORDERING GAMES.**

 **Part of the reason Fallout 76 is so shit is that Bethesda is used to letting its modding community fix its games. Obviously, they can't do that with an MMO, making Bethesda up shit creek without a paddle. If consumers don't preorder, Bethesda will be forced to make sure what they produce isn't garbage, because they won't have the safety net of someone's well-earned cash and you won't have to hire a lawyer to get your money back.**

 **Press F for Elder Scrolls 6. Hopefully it won't suck as much as Fallout 76 did. But I wouldn't hold out much hope. Bethesda pretty much needs to pull off a miracle to overturn years of laziness and half assed game development to overcome this hurdle.**

 **Elder Scrolls 6 is going to be the game that makes it or breaks it for Bethesda. Because if they fuck up something as well loved and popular as The Elder Scrolls, Bethesda can kiss their company goodbye as their fanbase shrivels into nothing and they get blacklisted by the gaming community as just another EA. Most of these AAA companies think they know what's best and that they control the consumers, but hoo boy Bethesda is going to be in for a very rude awakening if they mess this up.**

 **And bankruptcy.**

 **If so, I hope Obsidian gets the rights to the Fallout franchise…**

 **Hitler's Moustache- Judging by how rapidly Samuel's sanity is decaying, I reckon it's only a matter of time till he tries raising a Deathclaw from birth for use as a mount to ride into battle with. Plus it would be super-efficient killing raiders.**

 **Leodante97: Ah shipping, the most serious of affairs in a self-insert. I'm considering romance in this story however if there is, it will progress at a realistic (aka slow) pace. Getting laid is not very high on Samuel's list of priorities, nor is he going to drop everything in order to pursue a relationship. Assuming there is any, romance is and always will be taking a backseat to the main plot of the story. This is a story about a man who struggles with his morals and does bad things for good reasons. Not some shitty harem fanfic. I did not make this story with the intent to set a proxy of myself up with fictional characters. I'm not desperate.**

 **CeasingSwat: I will cover all the DLC's in this fanfic. Just don't expect them to play out like they did in the game.**

 **10000+ words.**

Chapter 10 – Broadcast

* * *

With a flick of my wrist, I toss an empty container of flamer fluid over my shoulder as I fumble for the magic lighter, attempting to will it into existence by sheer willpower.

After a few tries, I found success as the thing materialized out of thin air into the palm of my hand. Flicking it open, I light the tip of a desert shrub's branch and use it to set fire to the stacked up pile of dead bodies, consisting of both the raiders and their victims.

The smell of burning flesh and smoke fills the air as the fire grows in size. Soon, the entire corpse pile is engulfed in flame. Inhaling the smoke, I silently watched as the bodies of the deceased burn up.

Just a few hours ago, most of these corpses where living, breathing, people. They weren't good people, but still people nonetheless. They all tried to carve out an existence in the world, even if it was the wrong way. I don't regret killing them. People who spill blood should be prepared to pay in their own blood for their actions.

But, looking at this… I feel disappointment.

Such a waste of potential. They could have lived differently, much better lives had they made different choices. Choice…

Is it being cruel to others a natural trait of humanity, or is it just something we are especially good at? Or perhaps… both?

I shake my head and let out a snort. Here I am, getting philosophical about a bunch of cannibals and scum I couldn't care less about. The smoke must be getting to me.

Soon, there won't be anything left of their remains but ash. It's unlikely that they will be remembered by anyone. Even I will eventually forget about them.

I sigh.

How fleeting… life.

* * *

The journey to Novac was thankfully uneventful. Four days after the tunnel fiasco, Hope was strong enough to walk on her own for long periods of time without my assistance.

Who's Hope? Well for the sake of a good cliché, I decided to name the girl "Hope" out of annoyance to myself that I was just calling her girl. Besides, I need to check off boxes on my "bad self-insert tropes list" somehow.

All thanks to a regular dosage of one tablet of Buffout a day. I stopped giving her Med-X to reduce her chance of getting addicted to more drugs. It was bad enough I was giving her steroids to begin with, but I'll make sure to give her Fixer before I hand her over to The Followers.

Just as the sun was starting to peak over the horizon yonder, I stepped into the town of Novac. With my hand clasped firmly around Hope's, we walked quietly to the open tent that served as a mess-hall for the weary traveler. Eddy floated behind us, cheerily beeping away.

Thankfully, Hope is comfortable with me touching her for an extended period of time. At the very least her crippled mind recognizes me as "safe", which is a godsend considering the absolute nightmare that would be the scenario of having to tie a rope to her and drag her along forcefully. I don't think I need to tell you how that would cause so many misunderstandings with the locals, especially in an area with slavers present. I don't fancy getting shot at, thank you very much.

I'm already going to have enough trouble recruiting Boone thanks to Rick's shit charisma.

I look at Hope, who is currently staring blankly at Eddy, who is beeping at her. Ever since she was able to start walking, Hope seems to gravitate towards Eddy or myself when she's left to her own devices. I shouldn't really be surprised, given that between the two of us, we are the only friendly people she's had contact with recently.

Either way, it makes keeping track of her easy.

Entering the tent, I had Hope sit down and we ate breakfast, which consisted of some desert fruits and a box of sugar bombs I had sitting in the 4d. I wasn't wearing my metal armor, just a normal set of leather armor, mainly because I didn't want people in Novac to remember there had been a guy wearing armor similar to the description of "Ricksaw" in the future. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a small notebook and started flipping through the pages. The contents contained a myriad of facts of everything I remembered about Fallout New Vegas as a game. Places, people, factions, weapons, questlines, that sort of thing.

I was originally in the mindset of keeping the knowledge locked firmly inside my head, but I don't have access to the internet anymore to fact check and "refresh" my knowledge, so I decided to bite the bullet and make sure I had a failsafe in the event of memory loss or something of that nature.

At least, that's the "official" reason I did it.

The real reason why I made it was that I was getting really bored in that tunnel. I could only read so many trashy pre-war romance novels before I went insane from just how bad they were. Looks like pinky had a guilty pleasure in the things.

I couldn't just simply pop out for a moment either. Hope only just got back her ability to walk proper today, and the distance between the tunnel and Novac would roughly take at least an hour or two of me jogging back and forth. With Hope being completely defenseless, and Eddy not being an unkillable god, I couldn't leave them by themselves. So I had to sit and find ways to entertain myself while Hope recuperated. Basically more plotting.

The journal's contents are written in a code of sorts. I've replaced names with appropriate nicknames (Example: Ulysses = Bulls and Bears), locations become vague descriptions (Quarry Junction= Rock Den of Angry Chameleons), and quests and their steps become really unhelpful and even misdirecting to the unenlightened. I've also written pages of actual gibberish in to further disguise the relevant pages. If someone who has never played Fallout New Vegas as a game were to read it, they would see it as the ramblings of a delusional madman. Which I am, but hopefully it'll be enough to render it completely unusable by anyone except me.

Am I being paranoid? Yes, but rightly so. I know what happens to forbidden tomes (read: journals) full of meta-knowledge in self-insert stories. Chances are, I'll lose this at some point and it will end up in the hands of someone it shouldn't be in, or someone will go through my belongings while I'm sleeping or indisposed and find it.

Worst case scenario, if for whatever reason someone important like the Courier deciphers it and asks me how I know all these things I'll claim I'm a psyker who saw "the future", or rather, "a future" at least. Psykers, for people who aren't an encyclopedia on Fallout lore, are individuals who possess honest to god psychic abilities in the Fallout franchise. I don't know what the criteria is for someone to become a psyker, but with this being Fallout, I'm pretty sure it has something to do with radiation. Radiation alters the DNA, and boom fallout science/magic.

Just to name a few examples of Psykers, there are: Mama Murphy from Fallout 4, The Master from Fallout 1, and Fallout New Vegas's own psyker, The Forecaster. The helmet that kid is wearing is actually a psychic nullifier that disables his abilities, which is why he calls it his "headache medicine".

Not all psykers are equal in terms of psychic ability, a fact I can use to explain how I am not all knowing in case the timeline goes off the rails due to the butterfly effect. I'll describe it as a one-time only thing that I can't repeat again in order to prevent people from asking me to predict future events I know nothing about.

Hopefully, I haven't caused irreversible damage to the main timeline yet, but knowing my luck, I've probably ruined FNV canon already.

But at least I now have an excuse for how I know all the things I do, because I can just tell Hannah I was just following my "visions" when I wrote her that note. The vague and cryptic writing style I've written my journal in should further sell the image I'm a psyker and that my entries are "visions".

Because me being a psyker will be much easier for people to believe than my true nature of being a reality hopper and body snatcher from an alternate earth. Oh and also, you people aren't real and are actually the fabrications of a video game.

Yeah. So I'm definitely sticking to the psyker story. Not going to even feel guilty about lying about it either. Besides, with the amount of shit I know, I could probably be passed off as a real psyker anyway.

Now that I think about it, there's a lot of weird supernatural stuff in Fallout. Whatever the fuck kind of Cthulhu shit is going on with the Dunwich building and that satanic crap in Point Lookout, I want no part of. I'm glad I didn't get dropped in Washington DC, I am not going anywhere near that building.

Plus, aliens are an actual thing here. Like not even as a joke, they have a whole DLC dedicated to them.

…

Please Hannah, for the love of god don't have Wild Wasteland. I don't care if the Alien Blaster is potentially the strongest weapon on the entire planet, **NO**.

I have several things I want to accomplish today, including but not limited to recruiting Boone, having Boone shoot Crawford, and taking care of Helios One. Not necessarily in that order, mind you, but I did want to complete those three tasks above any of the other priorities today.

Taking a page from the game, I was going to wait until night to deal with Boone and Crawford as subtly and silently as possible. Might even do it exactly the same because if it ain't broke, don't fix it. No need to cause a scene that would only cause unnecessary conflict between Boone and the locals.

Besides, I'm trying to keep a low profile right now anyway. Publically executing a town leader isn't really what I'm going for... but maybe, if I wanted to play up the well intentioned extremist, perhaps I could…

Not sure Boone would appreciate it though. I also don't have any Party Time Mentats yet, so I wouldn't come off as very heroic. But then again, I don't need to say much do I? Just show everyone the deed, and…

Hmm.

The other reason I bothered to stop here was to check consistency between the real life Novac and the game version. Like Nipton, Novac is bigger than it's in game counterpart and there's also a lot more going on here as well.

Kind of like how Nipton is part town, part cesspool of degenerates, Novac is part town, part flea market.

There's a large amount of tents with tables around the old gas station with what I presume are merchants who are setting up shop for the day, making that throwaway line Manny made about how the town prospers by selling junk represented better here by having actual townspeople that sell you stuff.

After we finished breakfast, I took a gander at some of the stuff people were selling. Nothing really interesting, with most of the available goods being things I had in bulk thanks to my hoarding. However, I did buy a visor meant for a reinforced metal helmet (which is really just a modified motorcycle helmet) and an old busted up pre-war motorcycle model that weighed a hefty 219 lbs as what was first an impulse buy. And that's just how much it weighed missing some of the engine parts. I wanted to see if I could get it running again, but I'll also kill two birds with a stone if the pip boy fast travel doesn't work like I'm hoping it will.

Plus, I would be able to go full Ghost Rider. Need I say more?

To make room for it in my inventory, I sold most of the excess weapons and armor I had floating around in my 4d. Thank god I had that thing, otherwise I wouldn't be able to carry the motorcycle. You should have seen the look on that woman's face as I zapped it into hard light, fucking hilarious.

I never really got why people didn't fix up cars and drive them around the wasteland. I'm 90% sure the things could be converted to run on fission batteries, and people could get robots or super mutants to haul away the wreckages on the road. The only real bad place with vehicle wreckage I've seen so far is the Mohave Outpost with rusted cars and trucks clogging the interstate. And even if the roads are worse elsewhere, off-road vehicles are a thing, or at least someone could probably invent the necessary tires if they haven't already been invented.

Maybe Bethesda didn't want to be sued for being too similar to Mad Max? Though I think Fallout 2 had the Highwayman…

Something I've taken note of in the few months I've been here, is that Fallout's economy is radically different here than it is in the game. Which is expected, as in game an avatar is more often than naught literal death incarnate and has absolutely no trouble mowing down anything or anyone in its path, therefore the game making items such as weapons and implants extremely expensive to compensate for all the loot the player is amassing and selling. With real life people being more squishy, weak, and lest robust than a player avatar, that obviously doesn't hold true here.

Bottle cap currency works much differently compared to the money systems most of us are used to. I'm no economics expert, so don't expect this to be 100% accurate, but I'll try my best to explain item pricing and what counts as "being rich" in terms of cap currency. I will be using the currency I'm most familiar with as a comparison, in this case being the American dollar bill, or basically fiat money.

Keep in mind this is a rough estimate, so things like inflation and etcetera are not going to be accounted for.

So basically, a singular cap is like a mixture of a dollar and a penny. With 1 cap, you're probably not going to be buying anything like a mini nuke launcher or a sniper rifle, but you can get something like a clipboard, which would probably cost like 10 dollars in American money. Probably more because of inflation, but I don't really give a damn about the specifics.

This is basically how being wealthy works in terms of caps.

Around 100 caps or below- Very Poor. Expect most of these people to be raiders, junkies, and homeless people.

Above 500 caps- Poor. This is how most of the people who could be classified as civilians in the Wasteland are. It's not really a big deal since food and water are more or less the same price as their game counterparts. Judging by the fact that people I've come across aren't just skin and bones, it seems whatever salary a civilian makes by doing whatever they do is enough to pay for normal expenses.

Above 1000 caps- Average/Well off. These people generally tend to be merchants, prospectors, or have some type of combat oriented role like being a bodyguard and are good at what they do.

Above 5000- Wealthy. I'd imagine this would apply to people like the Gun Runner gunsmiths and extremely successful doctors who are part of a community like the NCR towns.

Above 10000 caps- Very Wealthy. Basically where people like that Brahmin asshole in the Ultra Luxe and Mr. House would end up.

Before attempting to use the data here for a research paper or something on Fallout's economy, remember that this is only to serve as establishing a relative baseline and reference point when it comes to wealth. This doesn't take into account external factors like yearly income or how well jobs in the wasteland pay. I also don't really know what kind of employment people have aside from the most obvious ones present in the game like bodyguards, doctors, ect. Game didn't really cover that aspect in depth.

Items seem to be priced according to their usefulness, which basically means the price dynamic of cheapest to most expensive looks something like this:

Worthless junk- Destroyed books, empty bottles, tin cans, basically any item that is literally trash. Don't expect to get anything for these, much less someone willing to buy them outside of junkyard merchants. Novac is probably the best place in the Mohave to find and sell this kind of stuff.

Everyday items. Stuff like coffee mugs, books, household stuff. In the game, they were mostly worthless, but here real life takes hold. Cheap.

Skill Books and Magazines- Since people can't exactly use magazines for stat bonuses, they're mainly treated as books that are more expensive because of the drawings. Skill books tend to be a few "tiers" higher in price, but with me easily hoarding and selling excess amounts items with my supernatural carry weight, buying any I see isn't an issue. With skill books being the exception, magazines are pretty cheap.

Junk items that are actually useful. Basically all the stuff that can be used to make better stuff with the Repair skill. Scrap Electronics, Egg timers, the works. Scrap metal is seen as a "worthless junk" tier item. Not pricey, but definitely higher than books.

Food and water- somewhat intertwined. Stuff like fruit and vegetables seems to be the least expensive, while the price of water varies between how clean it is. High quality meat that comes from things like Brahmins and deathclaws are definitely more expensive than the purest of water. Basically fruit/veggies/bug meat, dirty water, alcohol/prewar food/low quality meat/ecetera, clean water, and high quality meats.

Interesting thing of note, Lakelurk eggs and meat seem to be frowned upon by the general population when it comes to selling them to vendors. Lakelurks aren't mutated humans and are related to mirelurks who have tasty meat, so I have no idea why they have a stigma surrounding them. Plus they're an ingredient of the Wasteland Omelet.

Medicine and Drugs. Stimpacks have a large price tag attached to them, which given that it makes you regenerate on the spot makes sense for it to have. Medical equipment like surgical tools and syringes aren't as expensive, and tend to fall near useful junk items tier. Drugs are drugs. Expensive and probably the cause of many ruined lives.

Implants (Presumably) I haven't seen any outside of Project Nevada content, but I'm betting they are extremely expensive based on the fact that they alter your body permanently and require highly trained doctors to perform surgery on you.

Gold Bars- Dude, it's fucking gold. The NCR desperately need it to save their failing currency. What more do you want from me?

You might have noticed I haven't said anything about weapons or ammo. These two have their own category of pricing which doesn't really work well on this list without making it excessively long and confusing. So they get their own list.

The general price dynamic for weapons looks something like this:

Melee Weapons,Unarmed,Guns,Energy Weapons,Explosives

Now obviously there's going to be some outliers on this list. For example, Gehenna, a unique shishkebab is definitely worth more caps than a shitty 9mm pistol. I'm not going to go into great detail about every unique weapon and their price tag, so just use your brain to fill in the rest. This is just meant to show how most energy weapons tend to be more expensive than guns, how explosive weapons like missile launchers can bankrupt your average wastelander, and so forth. Ammo works similarly to weapon price, albeit they tend to be less expensive than the gun or weapon itself.

Except Mini Nukes. Mini Nukes are fucking expensive. And impractical. I'd probably just settle for a grenade rifle or mad bomber grenades. Maybe keep a missile launcher or that thing from Lonesome Road as insurance. Hopefully Red Rocket's Glare won't lag me to shit like it did in the game when I made the mistake of using it with V.A.T.S.

In conclusion, Novac looks pretty much the same as it did in game, if a bit more animated and lively. But that's not to say everything is hunky dory here. I've heard people talking worriedly about the Legion, and considering they are only a few miles from Nelson, I'd say they are right to be worried. Still, there's enough heavily armed people here that I think even if the Legion attacked before the battle of Hoover Dam, Novac would at least put in a better effort than Nipton in defending itself.

Another thing I've found out about Novac is that their ghoul problem is bigger here than it was in the game. Not only do they have to deal with REPCONN being infested, there's also 2 AWoP locations with large hordes of feral ghouls regularly coming out and getting too close to the town. One location is beneath Clark Field, the place with all the golden geckoes. The other is a place only a few scant meters away, the crumbling Novac Shipping Office.

Too say the locals are displeased is an understatement. Apparently, it's gotten so bad to the point that the town is actively putting out bounties for anyone to stop the flow of ghouls from coming out of the tunnels.

I have a very muddled memory about the shit that went down there. Something about a gang of ghouls, NCR, and a collapsed tunnel. I do remember some asshole with an anti material rifle at the end of the dungeon.

I'm going to have to give it a pass though. I'm on a time limit and that subway tunnel has set me back way too long.

* * *

Getting into Helios was trivial. An indirect insult aimed at Fantastic's competence, tell the NCR lady I'm good with machines, and bingo! I'm let in. Hope and Eddy gets some weird looks, but are ultimately ignored for the most part by the NCR troopers.

To be fair, we were a pretty weird looking party. A man, a girl, and an eyebot walk (float) into a power plant that's secretly a prewar doomsday weapon. And I'm not exactly short either. I judge Rick's height to be at least 6 foot ten or just a few inches below 7 foot. A couple more inches and I could probably butt heads with Lanius. Put that absolute unit next to a scrawny malnourished girl of average height (she's like 5 foot something) and a robot slightly larger than a basketball, and thus, Rick's bulk and size alone made Eddy and Hope look jarringly small by comparison.

And yes, clothes magically make themselves bigger to fit me. Something that I can't even begin to describe how grateful I am for being bound by extradimensional video game rules.

It was still morning by the time we got in to Helios, and I was hoping I would be able to complete "That Lucky Old Sun" before I missed the time of day needed for the power plant needed to fully charge itself. After extensive testing (standing around like an idiot and thinking "T", which is the default keyboard button I used for waiting in game) I determined that I didn't have a "wait" function, so I'd rather not dilly dally any further than I've had to already.

Luckily, Helios was fairly uneventful in terms of anything interesting happening. I managed to get Ignacio to look after Hope in exchange for setting Helios up to power the whole region at full, something I was already planning on doing anyway. I had to leave Eddy with him as a way of promising I wouldn't just ditch Hope with him.

And I went into Fantastic's room and sto- borrowed the medical skill book laying on the desk. I would put it to better use than him anyway.

The enemies I encountered inside the installation itself where nothing particularly threatening. Protectrons are trash tier enemies, turrets are easy to shoot down, and I didn't run into any missile wielding sentry bots, only ones with miniguns.

Oh, there were the robo brains though.

If the things robo brains said didn't sound so goofy and mundane, they'd be right at home in a sci fi horror film. They've got a fucking human brain in them. Imagine if they were still sentient and still had their memories as a human. Then imagine a robo-brain whose lived for more than 200 years screaming at you to end their suffering, having been trapped seemingly forever in a robotic husk and incapable of free will.

That's a proper horror video game enemy right there. And pre-war America made these things by the thousands, if that automaton dlc for Fallout 4 exists here. You can definitely tell that the scientists or whoever was responsible for making those things really didn't have a very good moral compass.

Pre-war America didn't really give a damn about ethics did they? No wonder Vault-Tec wasn't immediately shut down by the government. I mean seriously, who the fuck thinks it's an actual good idea to conduct unethical and downright sadistic experiments on what could possibly the last survivors of the human race?

I can guaran-fucking-tee that whoever came up with some of those tests knew full fucking well they wouldn't work. Like that vault where they shoved one female in while the rest of the 999 inhabitants were male. Then there's the one where they took children and turned them into super soldiers while killing the one's deemed unsatisfactory. Or that one where they played white noise 24/7 while all the inhabitants slowly went insane, I mean, just how was that one supposed to have a good result?! And don't even get me started on motherfucking Vault 22 that Big Mountain definitely knew made plant people. The effect of that vault was so profound it stalks the player in 2 dlc's as well as the main game.

Fucking bastards. I hope they're burning in hell.

If I ever find a time machine that sends me back to before the bombs dropped, I am going to take a very "enthusiastic walk" through Vault Tec's offices. Max my skills, amass enough high powered weaponry for a small army, and I can just about do just about anything I want with very little that can stop me.

Or at the very least, I will enjoy making Vault Tec squirm as I reveal the intended function of each and every Vault to the public. That's the one thing reporters are good for. A scandal? Oh, they'd snap that right up, the damn sharks. In fact, what is the point of celebrities anyway? They just sit around and do nothing and-

Er. Actually I think I'll stop. This is starting to get wildly off topic. My rant against the abomination that is mainstream media can be gifted to the world at another time, perhaps.

I peered through an open door.

Several Protectrons stood deactivated, safe behind their forcefield cylinders. Very deliberately, I slowly put a foot into the room, my axe perched on my shoulder as I listened to an alarm go off somewhere further in the facility. Patiently, I waited for the forcefields to deactivate. I didn't need to wait long. The Protectrons inside lit up as their respective forcefields fizzled out of existence. I turned my head to the Protectron closest to me as it stomped forward.

"INTRUDER SPOTTED. SUBMIT AND YOU WILL NOT-"

The Protectron's head exploded in a dazzling white explosion with a spark and crackle of electricity as I swung my axe ever so gracefully into the massive target that was its glass dome.

I get that the dome can shoot a laser, but really, you might as well put a sign that says "hit this for massive damage". Protectrons are surprisingly fragile despite being made for industrial work.

The other robots were just as easily dispatched, with me only getting hit with a glancing laser shot that left my shoulder pad feeling slightly warm.

After a couple more minutes of walking around Helios, I finally reached the server room. Heading up the catwalk, I inserted the keycard I found earlier into a slot on PYTHON's chassis. Stepping out of its way as the handyman booted to life I walked over to look at the weird thing next to it. I think it's the top half of a robo brain. Walking over to a nearby desk, I pocketed a Project Nevada implant, the AR Scanner. This thing was supposed to help by scanning enemies and giving you information about how big a threat they were.

Basically it acts as that medicine perk that lets you see enemy health bars, only it also lets you see things like DT and perception level (awareness) as well. Unfortunately, you have to look at your target and sit still for a few seconds to actually use it. It's probably more suited for sniper players than my current build.

Given that I've played New Vegas inside and out and have fought and killed every enemy, I probably wouldn't use this implant. I already had Bionic Eyes installed, and I was also planning two S.P.E.C.I.A.L. implants for my head. Wired Synapses (In Jacobstown) would serve my purposes better than the AR Scanner. Still, I wasn't just going to leave it here for the taking.

Going back downstairs, I walked over to the terminal that would let me turn Helios on. PYTHON already finished repairing the power cable and had powered itself down on the floor. Pushing buttons, I navigated through the menus till I got to the power options.

Archimedes II was looking tempting. Having a giant death laser from outer space was appealing, not going to lie. But right now that gun was in the hands of a child, and knowing children, there was an extremely high chance he would hold down the trigger unknowingly and atomize a good chunk of Freeside.

I shudder to think how badly that gun would be misused if it ended up in the hands of the Van Graffs or even worse, a Fiend. So no, we're not activating Archimedes. Besides that thing was shit in-game anyway. I instead picked the full power option, and winced as the machine let out a shrill beep informing me there wasn't enough power for the full region and t would suffer brownouts.

Well, that's what happens when you make a power plant relying solely on solar power. Did the Fallout-verse ever harness geothermal energy? I guess if I survive New Vegas, I can find out later.

I guess it's time to be blinded by light. Ooh boy. I can't wait.

Heading outside, I discovered very quickly that I suffer from vertigo. And promptly pressed my back to the central part of Helios's tower.

Why?! I flew on airplanes all the time! Is it because I'm standing on my own two feet?!

I got over it eventually, and totally didn't stand there petrified in fear for 2 minutes.

Promise.

Yanking the lever down, I heard the loud whirring noise of the solar panel gears as the things began to move. Letting out a maniacal cackle and shamelessly posing with my arms stretched outwards as the solar panels pivoted themselves upwards, the reflected rays from the sun engulfed the tower in light.

PRAISE. THE. SUN!

God, it's hot. Even before I had a Helios shoot solar beams at my location, the desert climate was already making me sweat. I'm glad I'm not wearing the metal suit. Also… I flip the bird at where I think the sun is. Hah, suck it bitch, you can't do nuthin to my metal eyes!

And then I remember that sunburns and skin cancer exist. Dammit. This is why we can't have nice things.

Absentmindedly, I put my hand on a nearby handrail for balance, before cursing and jerking it away. Hot! Resigning myself to fumbling almost blindly through the oppressive light, I clumsily make my way back up the ramp to Helios's server room. I opened the do -

 _ **BANG**_

* * *

"UAGHH!"

I stumbled through the door and fell to the floor with a scream as a searing pain made itself known in my right shoulder. Thankfully, I still had enough sense to place my left hand over the wound as I fell. I laid there for a minute on the floor, panting and gasping.

Shit, some fucker just shot me!

Whoever it was, they missed my head but still landed a pretty good fucking hit on me. This is what I get for not wearing my best bulletproof set of armor. Agh, it fucking huuuurtsss. I need to fuckin-comon, move dammit, I can't black out right now. If I do, I'm gonna die.

Gritting my teeth, I slowly, agonizingly, rolled myself over onto my back so I could assess the damage and not bleed to death all over the floor. Cautiously, I poked and prodded at the bullet wound in my back. Seeing as I can still move, I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume it didn't hit my spine.

It was pretty bad and- I tried moving my shoulder and winced- the bullet was lodged deep in there too. I couldn't see an exit hole in the front of my shoulder, which means that I would have to dig it out or risk lead poisoning. Great, just fucking great. Thank fuck my bones are made out of steel now and can't break easily, otherwise I'd have to worry about bone fragments shredding my insides.

Judging by how big the round felt, the bullet I'd been shot with wasn't a high caliber like a .50 or a 12.7, otherwise I'd probably be too fucked to even move right with a giant chunk of my shoulder gone. If it weren't for Gamer's Mind and the fact that I was conscious for the entire duration for my skeleton shattering, which was 10 times more painful than what I was feeling right now might I add, I probably would've gone into shock and bled to death. Fuck.

I tried moving my right hand, only to get a couple twitches of my fingers. Shit shit fuck. I hope suffering grievous injuries and losing control of my limbs isn't about to become a recurring theme in my life, because at this rate it looks like it will be.

I need first aid right now. If it weren't for the fact I would have walk down several flights of stairs while bleeding out and go back outside where the sniper is lurking, I would go to Ignacito, who likely has medical training, and he would be able to assist me.

Alright, think. Right arm's somewhat fucked, left is currently in an awkward position keeping the back side of me from bleeding out, and the bullet is stuck in my shoulder. 4D is in my pocket. If I can get the 4D, I can get medicine.

This time, I try again to move my right arm more forcefully, and find success as I painfully manage to stick my right hand in my pocket and make the fingers contract to retrieve the 4D. Clicking the device on, I grabbed a pen from a nearby desk and stuck it in my mouth. I then pressed the tip of it against the 4D's "emergency eject" slot on the back. The 4D let out a shrill beep and a countdown appeared on the screen starting at 3. Guessing it was going to shoot everything out of the led at once, I pointed the remote at a relatively unoccupied space of the building.

The countdown hit 0, and the 4D emitted a great flash of light as it deposited all the crap I had inside it on the floor of Helios. Stepping into my pile of garbage, I reached for a green duffle bag that I had found somewhere out in the wasteland. Where, I don't remember nor do I have the time to try. What was in it? Lots of drugs and medical supplies. Much more convenient to put everything in one place than cycle through the 4D looking for it.

Reaching into the bag, I immediately took out 2 med-x and injected myself by stabbing them into the artery of my other arm one at a time, my fingers feeling like they were on fire as I dropped each syringe after it was used. I let out a slight sigh of relief as numbness shot through my body and the pain dulled.

My pain tolerance was already pretty high due to my 8 endurance, and it was further raised after I went through re-growing my entire skeleton lucid, but I could do without the added distraction of my body screaming at me for having a hole in it.

I then pulled out some bandages and a super-stimpack. Taking my left hand off my shoulder, I stuck that puppy in there as fast as I could and started wrapping my shoulder in bandages as best I could. I was going to have to get a doctor to reopen the wound and pull the bullet out, because I had never tried something like this and would probably make the situation worse if I tried going at it with a pair of forceps. Better to just bear with it for now.

I collapsed into a in a chair covered in dust. Now that the immediate crisis was over, I needed to decide what I should do next. Who shot me?

NCR? Doesn't make sense, given they let me in to fix the tower. Plus the platform I was standing on wouldn't let the soldiers below wouldn't be able to nail me in the shoulder like that.

Boone? My back was turned towards Novac, but that shot would have to have traveled more than at least 3 miles to hit me. Maybe if he had an actual sniper rifle he could do it, but with a .308 hunting rifle? I don't think so. Plus, he only goes on shift at night, I haven't done anything with him yet, and I'm not vilified with the NCR or a part of the Legion. Probably not him.

Some random asshole? Maybe. They sure chose a weird target, with me being smack dab in a proverbial hornets nest. Even if I died, it's not like they would be able to get in. Who else have I pissed off?

…

Oh.

Ooh, noooo.

I'm an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

Whelp, it looks like I'm finally paying the price for ding dong ditching the Brotherhood of Steel a few weeks ago. It's the only option that makes the most sense. Although…

How long have I been followed, and why am I only being attacked now? I could have spread the information about location of their base all over half the damn Mohave by now. I sat for a couple of weeks near Mohave Outpost, and didn't get attacked once aside from the usual critters. When I was indisposed by Adamantium Skeleton, it would have been a perfect opportunity to try and finish me off.

The Brotherhood doesn't regularly use assassins as their MO, but they do have those recon agents, and while Christine is part of a splinter group of the Brotherhood called the Circle of Steel, it at least shows that the Brotherhood can have assassins. So maybe it is them.

But the Circle of Steel is something from Van Buren, a fallout game that was supposed to be Fallout 3 but was cancelled and had some of its assets taken and put into New Vegas. Something might have gotten lost in translation between the two, making my knowledge on the subject spotty at best.

Bah, I don't have time for lore speculation. Some asshole who wants to kill me is out there, and they're probably not going to go away if I ask nicely. I wouldn't dare stick my head back out there to try and find out the location of who shot me, so it looked like I was going to be relying on the different vision modes of my bionic eyes to find our assassin friend.

Night vision was obviously useless right now, so it looked like I was going to be relying on the thermal and electromagnetic modes.

Thermal wouldn't be that useful at this time of day, given its warm everywhere outside right now, making finding a human body without getting shot first a difficult endeavor. So it looks like the task falls to EM vision.

Electromagnetic vision was useful for finding things both organic and mechanical, but it didn't really tell me what I was looking at if something like a wall blocked by direct line of sight. If something wasn't directly in my line of sight, it would only show up as a cluster of sparkles. But clusters did have certain shapes and sizes depending on what it was, so I could potentially use that to find the location of my would be assassin.

While the bionic eyes did have different vision modes, I couldn't zoom in with them like I could a pair of binoculars. I could see things from a far off distance though, so using a scope might be helpful in that task.

Best chance of getting out of here? I go to the ground floor and activate a stealth boy so I can get back unmolested to the main building. Then, I alert the NCR of seeing a fake Brotherhood invasion from my high vantage point so they go on high alert, making it unlikely for our little friend to be able to enter the building without being shot. From there, it's a matter of using EM vision to scan the surroundings and look for what is likely a lone signature. Then, when I find their location, I sneak up on them and blow them to kingdom come with the explosives I got from the train tunnel.

Given that Eddy has a radar built him, I could also possibly use him to track down the assassin as well. This is a plan I would rather not resort too, given that Eddy isn't exactly stealthy and he would probably get shot down by the sniper.

Note to self: I need to see if I can add a stealth boy cloaking system to Eddy.

Getting out of the chair, I quickly changed into the metal armor for better protection so I didn't get owned again the next time the sniper shot at me, zapped all my shit back into the 4d, and took some Buffout to compensate for my injured arm. I made sure to finish the Helios quest so Archimedes couldn't be activated, and took the elevator back down.

The atmosphere felt tense as I walked back. With all the robots destroyed, Helios was eerily silent. I was a few corridors away from the entrance when I heard it.

Footsteps. I pulled the laser rifle off my back, and put a finger to the stealth boy I had attached to my arm. Activating EM vision, I saw only one sparkle cluster moving slowly towards my location.

Well, this makes things easier. I'm kind of bummed my monologue about my eyes went to waste like that. Oh well.

I narrowed my eyes. So, you're not even going to wait for me to get out of Helios before attempting to finish what you started? Whoever this is must really want me dead. And it also worries me because they had the skill to sneak past all the NCR soldiers, or they killed everyone on the way in. Neither of these options are good.

Either that, or some very unlucky NCR soldier who was too curious for their own good is about to get a laser to the face.

I considered going back up to the tower so I could rig the area in my favor, but this person was too close and moving too fast for me to be able to sneak away undetected. I activated the stealth boy, and swapped the laser rifle for my fire axe. I positioned myself next to a door frame lying in wait as they stepped ever so closer.

Their footsteps echoed in the empty building.

 _tap. tap. tap._

I gripped the axe in anticipation, the leather padding in my gloves creaking as adrenaline running through my veins.

 _Tap._

A man in recon armor stepped through the doorframe. The visor was pitch black, so I couldn't see his face. But I could tell by the body shape it was a man. He held in his hands what I recognized to be a 10mm smg. A decent weapon all in all. But what really sealed the deal for me was the rifle slung across his back.

A sniper rifle. Oh buddy, if you don't notice me you're sooo fucked.

I held my breath as he slowly stepped forward. He was close enough to me that I could touch him.

He walked past me. Not wasting anytime, I drew my axe back and swung it at his head. At the very last second the guy turned his head, but it was too late as he…

As he…

As he…

…

As he did a fucking **front flip** , evading my swing, and landed on all fours like a… ninja?

What.

That's bullshit.

What is this, an anime?

I threw myself through the doorway as he raised his 10mm smg and fired, bullets spraying the corridor. I got back up from where I hit the ground, and unclipped a plasma grenade from my belt and threw it through the door.

Then I fucking ran like hell.

I was expecting to fight a normal human being. Instead, I got fucking spider man.

Screw this, let's see if the NCR is still alive!

But alas, my hopes and dreams were ruthlessly crushed as per usual as the guy fearlessly charged through the explosion of plasma and tackled my ass. He tackled me, a very large man who is carrying more than 500 lbs of weigh and completely said "fuck you" to the stonewall perk. I am officially freaked out now.

We struggled for a fierce minute on the ground as a fierce battle between his skill and my brawn reigned for supremacy. He put me in a headlock, and I struggled fiercely until I realized he hadn't accounted for the fact I still had grenades and mines on my belt.

It was absolutely insane, but I was desperate. I fumbled for a frag mine and put it right on the guys back as I activated it. It detonated at point blank range, throwing him off me, and slightly compromising my armor as let's face it, metal armor was kinda shit.

I haggardly got up from my position on the floor. The guy had already recovered and had reloaded his smg to fire another clip at me. Instead of running away this time, I picked up my fire axe from the floor and charged him. Bullets pinged off my armor as I rapidly approached a collision course with my opponent. He seemed to realize the gun was getting him nowhere, so he dropped it and pulled out a ripper from his belt.

I made the mistake of assuming I was safe holding the weapon of longer reach, and was proven wrong as the assassin closed the space between him and the axe, cutting off my swing. Bastard hit my wrist, making me flinch and drop my axe, effectively disarming me. He then pulled off a vicious swing that nearly cut my neck, which would have definitely been the end for me.

If I had any doubts this guy was here to kill me and not just defending himself, they were thoroughly squashed. I retaliated by punching him in the throat followed by a headbutt. We disengaged from each other, and settled for circling each other warily with him coughing up a storm. I briefly touched where he cut me.

Piss. He cut through my helmet and got my cheek. Getting wounds from a ripper is like getting cut by a knife with a serrated edge, only worse. I stuck my tongue where the cut was to see if I had a hole in my mouth. Luckily, I didn't.

I was officially pissed off now. Pulling out a shot of Psycho, I watched him warily as I injected it into my neck. Forget running, I was going to enjoy beating the piss out of this guy. I cracked my knuckles. "I'm going to bury you asshole."

There, a cheesy one liner. Are you happy?

Predictably, he said nothing, assumed some type of combat stance, and charged at me. Fine. Who needs weapons when you have fists of steel? I inhaled and exhaled and cleared my mind. My mind was a temple, and in the background a waterfall peacefully flowed down the rocks.

Suddenly, the guy slowed down exponentially as I could begin to see where he was aiming his knife at. Now, contrary to popular belief, this was not a superpower I had just pulled out of my ass. This was **Bullet Time** , a feature of Project Nevada which was basically just a shitty turbo that used your AP and slowed you down as well. The only thing that changed was that I could "think" faster.

To use it, your mind has to very briefly be in a state of relaxation. Pretty fucking hard in the middle of a fight, but I pulled it off just barely. I only recently learned how to use this during my stay in the subway tunnel. I learned a lot of things in that tunnel now that I think about it, Boredom definitely lives up to it's reputation as being the key to innovation.

I reached out and grabbed the hand which held the ripper by the wrist as I pulled him towards me. I then slammed my spike covered knee into his chest. Following up, I put both of my arms on his shoulder and pushed him back. As he stumbled backwards I twisted my torso and delivered another brutal punch, swinging my entire left arm with all my body weight behind it into his face, cracking the glass of the recon helmet.

Falling back, he hit his head on a wall and sunk down to the floor dazed. I immediately punished him for it.

Jumping on him, I then proceeded to beat the piss out of him by continuously punching him in the face. Each blow sent his head almost swinging from side to side. The glass of his recon helmet broke after the fifth punch, and I didn't hesitate to capitalize on it by landing a direct punch on his face, breaking his nose and pushing the glass shards into the vulnerable flesh.

The guy didn't even scream as I beat him senselessly. I was beginning to think he had died immediately when he had hit the back of his head on the wall. After one final punch that was halfhearted in nature I stopped.

He was dead.

I sat on his corpse, panting from the exertion. Contrary to what the movies and tv show, close quarter fights with the intent to kill only last a couple minutes at best. The average human body just isn't robust enough to take large amounts of punishment like that. A fact that I had forgotten as I let myself get carried away. I got off his body. Most of his stuff had been scattered around the room during our fight. The rifle he had lost in one of the explosions I had caused, the guy's smg had skidded to the wall next to his corpse, and the ripper was laying on the ground near me.

Picking up the guy's ripper, I approached the body cautiously. Switching the chain knife on, I gave the body a kick. Nothing. Holding the ripper blade level with the man's neck, I carefully reached under the shattered recon helmet to feel his neck for a pulse.

I had slight difficulty doing this, seeing as he had a giant metal band around his neck. Looking at it now, was that a bomb collar? I hastily pulled my hand back and prepared to run to safety at the slightest peep of a beeping noise.

Nothing happened. I stood there for at least two or three minutes waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. I took a closer look at the "bomb collar".

It... didn't look like one. Unlike the clunky blocky thing that gets put on your character's neck during Dead Money, this collar was smooth and sleek, almost like a circlet. There were several lights on it, and a couple circular knobs on the side that pressed up against the guy's neck. But what could it be for, if it wasn't a bomb collar?

Hesitantly, I stepped back and made a more hearted effort to see if the guy was still alive.

Daringly, I reached out and gave the collar a tug. Nothing happened, but it refused to budge, almost like it was a part of the guys neck. Weird. Still, I could mess with it later after I made sure he was dead. Sticking my fingers on his wrist, I felt for a pulse.

No pulse. He was deader than a sack of bricks. Aside from the weird collar thing that might be a bomb I fumbled with his armor, seeing if I could at least get verification I killed a brotherhood assassin.

Eventually, I did find something. But it wasn't what I expected. I had expecting a holotag with someone's name on it, only what I found instead was a weird necklace, comprised of a circle with spikes jutting out from the middle.

"The hell?" I turned it over, trying to see if looking at it from a different angle would help me figure out what this thing was supposed to be.

It made out of some kind of metal, iron or steel maybe, and painted black. It had a coppery smell and a weird sticky texture to it, like someone had dipped it in blood.

It did not give off a good vibe at all. This is like something for a cult.

Huh, maybe it really was a psycho who attacked me. A psycho with what looked like a bomb collar on their neck. Did Elijah crack earlier than expected and come back from the Sierra Madre to finish what he started?

And did he train his victims to be ninja's too? Seriously man, that guy had the hops.

I reached for the recon helmet and slowly pulled it off. Looking at his face, he didn't look like anyone I recognized. Then again, I turned his face to mush. He had brown ratty hair with green eyes, and also a bit of a stubble. His eyes were glazed and he was bleeding very profusely from the glass I had shoved into his face, but what interested me was a weird mark on his neck that looked like a bruise. During our fight, I didn't try strangle him once. Was it from where I punched his throat? I moved his head slightly to get a better look at it.

After looking at it for a second, I was sure it was a bruise until I saw it **move**. Black lines which I realized were veins began to slowly appear on his skin and climb up around his body. I watched transfixed as they flowed like a river up his face and towards his cut. At this point I still hadn't moved from where I was standing, too interested in what was happening, but I was also craning my neck backwards more and more as more lines of black appeared on his skin.

What... the... fuck?

When it reached the cuts on his face, the open wounds began to bubble yellow liquid that smelled absolutely foul at it formed a scab and stopped bleeding instantly. I took a step back. Then another.

Is... that the Atomic perk or something? Because that is absolutely disgusting.

Suddenly the man convulsed, and his eyes suddenly were no longer dead, but focused. We made eye contact.

Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.

I was too shocked at seeing a dead man come back to life that I did nothing as he picked up the gun laying nearby and pressed to muzzle directly into a section of my armor that had taken too much damage from detonating a bomb at point blank range, and simply stood there as he pulled the trigger.

White hot pain alerted me as the bullets shredded through my flesh and my stomach. I let out a roar of pain as my insides were shredded. Survival instincts kicked in, I took the closest thing I had at hand, and swung the ripper down directly on the fucker's head with all the might I could afford.

 _ **CRACK**_

The ripper didn't so much as cut as it caved the man's skull in. Without turning it on, the sheer force I put behind the blow made the weapon act more like a shitty lead pipe than it did a chainsaw knife. Backing away, I hit a wall as I strained to recover from having the entire clip from a 10mm submachine gun emptied into my partially exposed stomach.

My insides felt like hell. My vision went blurry as tears of pain streamed down my cheeks. What the fuck was that?! Fuckin' voodoo shit!

"…Urk!" I bent over and tried to feebly cover my mouth as I coughed up a large amount of blood. I caught myself from falling over on a nearby railing as I began to bleed out from my stomach wound.

"Ugh… B-bastard!"

I tried to reach in my pocket for the 4d, only from my arm to flare up loudly in protest. The drugs from earlier had finally worn off. I was made aware of how exhausted I felt. Tiredness threatened to make me collapse. I barely had enough energy to even stand.

I needed to get out of Helios. I wouldn't die here, I wouldn't! I still have… too many things to do… agh… and not enough… time.

I left the ripper in the man's head. It was fine. I didn't need it any more than it needed me, and it could rot happily in that cranial canal for all I could ever care.

Spots were dancing in my eyes. I could still get those apparently. With great difficulty, I forced myself to move. With my hand feebly covering my bleeding chest, I took step after step, with each labored breath I took I was closer to help and safety and I needed to get out.

Dazed and disoriented I stumbled like a drunk through the bowels of Helios. What was only likely probably a few minutes felt like an hour, decade, and worse.

Finally, after what was an eternity and some more, I stepped outside into a world hot and bright. I had made it outside. Different voices assaulted my ears as I stood there, oblivious to the world and more.

What was I even doing again? My stomach chose to painfully spasm at that exact moment, bringing me for a moment back to lucidity.

Right, I'm dying. We need help. Or was it I need help?

Who is we anyway? Who are you? What am I? What is-

My stomach let out another painful sob as I snapped out of my funk again.

"Hey… you. I need a… doctor." I reached out an arm to the nearest NCR soldier. She turned at the sound of my voice, eyes widening as she no doubt spotted the numerous injuries I had sustained in my battle against that psycho.

I was done.

My legs finally gave out. The world grew dark, and the last thing I heard before I hit the ground were the panicked voices of NCR soldiers.

* * *

The sound of crows and the noise of a fan spinning were the first things she heard.

The feeling of hunger and thirst were next.

A stiffness was present in her limbs. She felt like death warmed over.

But…

She was… alive?

Slowly, her eyes opened.

* * *

 **Yes, yes, the chapter ends with lame cliffhanger(s), but at least we actually got to the start of New Vegas.**

 **I definitely made an oopsie or two with the economics bit. It's probably very wrong. It's only there to serve as a rough, and I mean very rough, estimate of what a realistic fallout economy would look like. I'm not super into stuff like this, and I'm not wasting hours of my life watching Fallout videos on the economic structure of Fallout's bottlecap economy to provide a completely accurate representation. This fanfic is not intended to be about macroeconomics, harems, or whether or not traps are gay.**

 **I also have a bit of bad news for you all. I goofed around with one mod too many before accessing Ricksaw's (now very old) save file and I kind of… corrupted it. Eddy disappeared off the face of the earth and Boone won't talk to me. Oopsies. So now I have to make a new character all over again. 14 hours of my life making a new Ricksaw, here I come!**

 **It shouldn't be too much of an issue, as I'm trying to gradually push the gamer aspect of this fic into the background and focus more on realism and story. It'll still be there, but less in the spotlight than it has been these past few chapters. Don't worry, me having to making a new character shouldn't affect the next chapter anyway.**

 **Because for the next chapter, I want to shake things up a bit and not focus on the SI fully for once like I have the past 10 chapters…**

 **And, as I'm sure you are all aware by now…**

 **The Courier's debut is next chapter!**

 **Edited 4/17/2019.**


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